Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dahlia Potter sat cross-legged on the bed in her modest room at the Leaky Cauldron, a place she had come to call her sanctuary in the chaotic wizarding world. In her hands was her father's journal, its leather cover worn but lovingly preserved. She had been staring at one specific photo for what felt like hours.

The photo was of her parents and her godfather, Sirius Black. He stood with his arm slung casually around James Potter's shoulder, his face alight with a carefree smile. The Sirius in this photo didn't match the description she had been told on the Knight Bus a few days ago.

"That is Sirius Black. He's a murderer," the man said to her.

Dahlia's grip on the journal tightened. The Sirius in the photo wasn't a murderer. He was charming, outgoing, and full of life—a man her father trusted as a brother and her mother described in her journal as "reckless but fiercely loyal." She remembered flashes of him from her early childhood: the way he'd call her "Prongslet" and make her laugh with silly faces. Padfoot, they'd called him.

"What happened to you, Padfoot?" Dahlia whispered to the empty room, her voice cracking under the weight of her thoughts.

Her parents' journals had become a lifeline for her, a way to piece together the lives of the people who had loved her so deeply before Voldemort shattered her world. Through them, she learned about their hopes, dreams, and the love they had for her. It made the loss sting all the more.

Dahlia sighed, closing the journal with a soft thud and placing it on the bedside table. She had other things to focus on today—like buying her school supplies for the upcoming term. But first, she needed to stop by Gringotts to withdraw some money.

Gringotts loomed before her, its white marble steps gleaming in the sunlight. Dahlia ascended them quickly, pushing through the heavy bronze doors into the bustling bank. As she entered, a goblin guard stepped forward, bowing slightly.

"Greetings, Heiress of the Most Ancient and Illustrious House of Potter. Welcome to Gringotts."

Dahlia froze mid-step, her eyes widening. "Heiress?" she repeated, her voice tinged with confusion.

"Indeed, Heiress Potter," the goblin said with a curt nod before stepping aside to allow her entry.

"Uh... thank you," Dahlia murmured, her mind racing. What did he mean by "Heiress"?

The marble floors echoed with the click of her shoes as she approached the main counter. Behind it sat a goblin with sharp eyes and a quill poised mid-air. He looked up as she arrived.

"Name?" he barked.

"Dahlia Potter," she replied nervously.

The goblin's gaze flicked around the room before settling back on her. "Are you alone?"

"Uh... yes," she said hesitantly.

The goblin frowned but nodded. "Very well. Griphook! Summon Tharnick. Inform him that the Potter Heiress has arrived."

"Excuse me," Dahlia interrupted, her brow furrowed. "Why are you calling me 'Heiress'? I don't understand."

The goblin's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You mean to tell me you don't know? You are the Heiress of the Most Ancient and Illustrious House of Potter."

Dahlia blinked. "I... no. No one ever told me that."

The goblin sighed, rubbing his temples. "Your magical guardian should have informed you of this."

"My what now?"

The goblin gave her an exasperated look. "Follow me. Tharnick will explain everything."

Tharnick, her Vault Manager, greeted her with a polite bow as she entered his office. The space was lavishly decorated, with intricate carvings on the walls and a large desk made of dark wood.

"Well met, Heiress Potter," Tharnick said, gesturing for her to sit. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you properly. I have been awaiting this day since your first visit to Gringotts."

"Thank you, Tharnick," Dahlia replied, settling into the chair. "But... I'm confused. What do you mean by 'Heiress'? And what's this about a magical guardian?"

Tharnick's expression turned serious. "Your parents' will outlined specific instructions for your care, including a list of magical guardians. You were never meant to be placed with your Muggle relatives, the Dursleys. This was a violation of their wishes."

Dahlia's stomach dropped. "You're saying... I didn't have to live with them? That there were other options?"

"Indeed," Tharnick confirmed. "Your magical guardian, Augusta Longbottom, should have been informed. However, Albus Dumbledore bypassed these arrangements."

Dahlia felt her breath catch. Dumbledore had betrayed her parents' trust?

"I... I don't know what to say," she murmured.

Tharnick reached into a drawer and pulled out a silver dagger and a blank parchment. "Perhaps an Inheritance Test will clarify matters. It will reveal your lineage, guardians, and any other pertinent information."

Dahlia eyed the dagger warily. "You want me to... what, cut myself?"

Tharnick chuckled softly. "Just a few drops of blood, Heiress Potter. It is harmless, I assure you."

Still hesitant, Dahlia picked up the dagger and made a shallow cut on her palm, letting seven drops of blood fall onto the parchment. The blood spread like ink, forming elegant, shimmering letters.

Tharnick handed her the parchment, and as Dahlia read, her world tilted on its axis.

Dahlia Jamie Potter

Parents: James Fleamont Potter and Lily Jane Potter (née Evans)

Godparents: Sirius Orion Black (Wrongfully imprisoned) and Alice Longbottom (née Fortescue)

Magical Guardian: Augusta Longbottom (Legal)Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore (Illegal)

Compulsions:

Loyalty Compulsion to Albus Dumbledore and Molly Weasley

Hatred Compulsion against Slytherins

Heirships:

Heiress of the Most and Ancient and Illustrious House of Potter

Heiress of the Most Ancient and Revered House of Peverell

Heiress of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black

Heiress of the Most Ancient and Cunning House of Slytherin

Vaults:

6,000,000 Galleons withdrawn by Albus Dumbledore

1,000,000 Galleons withdrawn by Molly Weasley

Others:

Dahlia's hands trembled as she lowered the parchment. "I'm the Heiress of Slytherin? How is that even possible?"

"Salazar Slytherin had a daughter," Tharnick explained patiently. "Her name was Amara. She was a squib who left the magical community and married a Muggle. Over generations, her lineage was forgotten, but it survives through your mother's bloodline."

Dahlia's stomach churned. "So... I'm related to Voldemort?"

"Distantly, yes," Tharnick said gravely.

The information was overwhelming, but one detail stuck out like a jagged thorn. "What about this marriage contract with Ron Weasley?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"It was voided due to the lack of the Potter family seal and your legal guardian's signature," Tharnick explained.

Relief flooded her. "And the compulsions? The Horcrux in my scar? Can those be removed?"

"They can," Tharnick confirmed. "The process will take several hours, but it is essential for your well-being."

The ritual chamber of Gringotts was cold and dimly lit, its stone walls covered in intricate runes. Dahlia stood in the center, wearing a simple white gown provided by the goblins.

The ritual was grueling, testing both her physical and emotional strength. The removal of the Horcrux burned like fire, and the breaking of the compulsions left her feeling raw and exposed. But by the end, she felt lighter—freer—than she ever had before.

As she stared at herself in the mirror later that night, back in her room at the Leaky Cauldron, her emerald eyes burned with determination.

"No one is ever going to take advantage of me again," she vowed softly. "Not Dumbledore, not anyone. From now on, I decide my own fate."

Chapter Text

Dahlia looked at some dresses at Madam Malkin's since she had decided it was time for a wardrobe change. She was browsing through some ready-made dresses to wear for the remaining days she would be staying at the Leaky Cauldron. She had already picked out some custom designs for Hogwarts. After buying the dresses, she chose one to wear for the day since she would be shopping for the supplies she needed for school.

She purchased a broom kit, new quills, parchments, some sanitary pads, and tampons, and all that was left was her books. She had already owled Professor McGonagall to request a change in her electives—she decided to drop Divination and take up Ancient Runes instead. Heading to Flourish and Blotts to get her books, Dahlia became completely sidetracked by the fiction section, which included both Muggle and wizarding literature. She couldn't honestly say whether she could bring back all the books she had picked out, but that didn't stop her from carrying the entire pile to the counter.

She was almost at the counter when she accidentally bumped into someone, causing all the books she was carrying to fall to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking," the person chuckled. Dahlia thought she might melt when she heard his laugh.

"I can see that. Here, let me help you with these. What's a little lady like you doing carrying so many books all alone?" the person asked. His voice was deep but gentle, and it felt comforting. Dahlia couldn't help but feel safe when he spoke.

"I'm staying all alone at the Leaky Cauldron—" Dahlia began, but her words faltered as she looked up to see who was helping her. It was Theodore Nott, one of Draco Malfoy's friends, though he wasn't seen with Malfoy as often as Crabbe and Goyle. Dahlia took a moment to observe Theo's features; he had grown over the summer, and he was even more handsome than she remembered.

Dahlia wasn't blind—she had always known Theo was good-looking, but now he was downright striking.

"Done checking me out, Potter?" Theo asked, smirking at her.

"I—I am not checking you out, Nott," Dahlia stammered, feeling her cheeks flush.

"Sure you aren't, Cara," Theo teased.

"Whatever," Dahlia muttered, rolling her eyes as she bent down to pick up the books. She wasn't about to stand there and be teased by her schoolmate, who happens to be very good-looking. As she reached for the books in Theo's hands, he stopped her.

"I'm only teasing you, Potter. No need to get so riled up. Besides, I offered to help, didn't I? I'm a man of my word, and I can't let a pretty lady like you struggle with all these books."

"Fine," Dahlia relented, not in the mood for an argument and secretly grateful for the help. After paying for her books, she placed them in a bag she had earlier, enchanted with an Extension and Feather-Light Charm.

"So, Potter," Theo said, looking her up and down, "I see you finally decided to have a wardrobe change."

"Yeah," Dahlia replied, "I finally remembered I had money and didn't need to wear my cousin's old clothes anymore."

Theo hummed in approval. "That's good. You finally look like the heiress that you are."

Dahlia felt her cheeks warm at the compliment, though she tried to hide it by busying herself by adjusting the straps of her bag on her wrist. "Well, I suppose it's time I started acting like one too," she replied, half-joking but with an undertone of sincerity.

As they stepped out of Flourish and Blotts, Theo matched his stride to hers, his presence oddly comforting despite their teasing banter. "So, what else do you need to get? Or should I assume you've managed to clear out every shop in Diagon Alley already?"

Dahlia rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "Books were the last on my list, actually. I'm all set for Hogwarts now." She glanced at him sideways. "What about you? I'm surprised to see you here without Malfoy's usual entourage."

Theo shrugged, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. "Draco's got his own shopping to do, and I prefer to avoid the mess. Besides," he smirked, "I wouldn't have bumped into you if I'd been trailing after him, would I?"

Dahlia blinked, caught off guard by his words. Was Theo Nott flirting with her? She wasn't sure how to respond, so she changed the subject. "Are you ready for school? Any big plans for this year?"

"Other than surviving another term of Snape's mood swings and dodging Peeves' pranks?" He chuckled. "I've been considering taking up Ancient Runes, actually. Heard it's more useful than Divination."

Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "You're switching to Ancient Runes too? What a coincidence."

"Or maybe it's fate," Theo said with a playful grin.

She snorted. "If you're going to sound like Trelawney, maybe you should stick with Divination."

Theo laughed, a warm, deep sound that made her stomach do a little flip. "Fair point. But seriously, Runes seems interesting, and I hear Professor Babbling is brilliant. Guess we'll be seeing more of each other in class, won't we?"

"I guess so," Dahlia replied, her tone carefully neutral, though she couldn't ignore the flutter of excitement in her chest.

As they reached the Leaky Cauldron, Theo paused by the entrance. "Well, Potter, it looks like this is where we part ways. For now, at least." He handed her bag back to her, his fingers brushing hers for a brief moment.

"Thanks for the help," Dahlia said, trying to ignore the way her heart skipped at the contact. "I owe you one."

"Don't mention it," Theo replied with a wink. "Just don't be surprised if I call in that favor one day."

As he turned to leave, Dahlia watched him go, her mind racing. Theodore Nott was full of surprises, and for the first time, she found herself looking forward to the new school year in a way she hadn't before.

The days at the Leaky Cauldron drifted by, and Dahlia found herself wandering Diagon Alley more frequently, exploring corners she hadn't noticed before. The bustling wizarding shopping district had a certain charm, but it was the places off the beaten path that piqued her interest most. One such place was a lavish restaurant called Château Mystère. The meals there were exquisite—far more refined than the hearty, comforting fare at the Leaky Cauldron. If she was being honest, Dahlia was already planning to treat Ron and Hermione to a meal there sometime soon. They'd always been there for her, and this would be her way of saying thank you for their unwavering friendship.

Today, though, she found herself back at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, savoring the rich taste of strawberry and cream as the summer sun warmed the stone streets of Diagon Alley. She felt at peace for the first time in weeks, enjoying the simple pleasure of an ice cream cone. But her moment of quiet was interrupted by a familiar voice calling her name.

"Lia!"

Dahlia turned and saw Neville Longbottom approaching her, flanked by a tall, older woman with striking silver hair. The woman had an air of dignity about her, yet there was a warmth in her smile that immediately put Dahlia at ease. She could only assume the woman was Neville's grandmother.

"Hey, Nev," Dahlia greeted, her voice light.

"You wanted to avoid the crowd too, huh?" Neville asked with a knowing smile as he sat down next to her, his eyes scanning the bustling alley.

"That, and I've been staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the past few days now," Dahlia admitted, looking around at the colorful shops and witches and wizards hustling by.

"Why?" Neville asked, genuinely curious.

Dahlia let out a small laugh. "I ran away after... well, I accidentally blew up my uncle's sister. She deserved it, by the way."

Neville's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his grandmother—who had been silent up until this point—chuckled softly.

"Oh, yes," the older woman said, her voice smooth and dignified. "I heard about that. Quite remarkable accidental magic, if I may say so, Heiress Potter."

Dahlia blinked. "Oh, uhm, thanks, I guess?" she replied, a bit taken aback by the formality.

"Dowager Longbottom," the older woman said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "But you can call me Auggie. It's what your father and his friends called me back then."

Dahlia's eyes widened in surprise. "You knew my father?"

Augusta's smile softened, and for a moment, Dahlia saw a flicker of nostalgia in her eyes. "Of course I did. Your father was my godson, Dahlia. I was there when he and his friends were just boys, and I've seen how much they cared for you, even before you were born."

Dahlia's heart swelled at the revelation, but another thought struck her, one she had been holding onto since her meeting with Tharnick. She turned to Auggie with a hesitant look. "Actually, there's something I need to tell you, Mrs. Longbottom—sorry, Auggie. I found out recently that you're my magical guardian."

Augusta's expression shifted, her eyes narrowing in surprise. "I am?" she asked, her tone serious now.

Neville looked at his grandmother, equally confused. "Gran, is that true?"

"It's entirely possible," Augusta admitted, her brows furrowing as she turned back to Dahlia. "But I was never informed. What happened?"

"Gringotts," Dahlia explained, her voice steady. "I had an inheritance test done, and it revealed that my parents named you my magical guardian. But apparently, Dumbledore ignored their wishes and placed me with the Dursleys instead."

Augusta's expression darkened, and Neville stared at Dahlia in shock. "The Dursleys? As in your Muggle relatives? They let you stay with them instead of coming to us?" Neville asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

Dahlia nodded, her jaw tightening. "Yeah. I lived in a cupboard under the stairs for years. They treated me like I was less than human. And Dumbledore knew. He knew and still left me there."

Augusta's lips pressed into a thin line, her anger barely contained. "That meddling old man," she muttered. "If I had known—if I had any idea—I would have taken you in the moment your parents died. James and Lily trusted me with you. And instead, you were left with people who didn't deserve to raise you."

Dahlia felt a surge of comfort at Augusta's words. Even though she had only just met Neville's grandmother, the sincerity in her tone and the protective glint in her eyes reassured her. "It's not your fault," Dahlia said softly. "You didn't know. But now that I do, I just... I needed you to know too."

"Thank you for telling me, child," Augusta said, her expression softening as she reached out to squeeze Dahlia's hand. "From this moment forward, I want you to know you're not alone. Whatever you need, you can come to me. To us."

"Absolutely," Neville chimed in, his face set with determination. "You've got us, Lia. You're part of our family, magical guardian or not. Besides, Your my godsister and it's my duty as your godbrother to look after you"

Dahlia's throat tightened with emotion, and she blinked back the sting of tears. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice shaky but grateful.

Augusta smiled warmly. "You know, you're more like your parents than you realize. Brave, loyal, and always putting others first. But don't forget, Dahlia—it's okay to let others help you too."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Dahlia felt like she had a family (besides Ron and Hermione)—one that truly cared for her. It was a small glimmer of hope in the midst of the chaos that had become her life.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Dahlia had just finished getting ready and was on her way downstairs for breakfast when she heard the familiar sound of bickering from below. Her lips curved into a grin as she recognized the voices.

"Get that beast of yours away from Scabbers, or I'll turn it into a tea cozy!" Ron's voice rang out, followed by a scuffle.

"It's a cat, Ronald, what do you expect? It's in his nature!" Hermione shot back, her voice exasperated.

"A cat? Is that what they told you? Looks like a pig with fur if you ask me!" Ron grumbled, clearly disgusted by Crookshanks.

"That's rich coming from the owner of that smelly old shoe brush," Hermione retorted with a laugh.

Dahlia shook her head, silently amused by the friendly, endless bickering. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes fell on her two best friends. They hadn't noticed her yet, so she just quietly watched as Hermione scolded Ron, and Crookshanks stared at Scabbers with a kind of predatory calm.

"Crookshanks, just ignore the mean little boy," Dahlia said with a fond smile as she stepped into the room.

The second Ron heard her voice, he turned, his face breaking into a grin.

"Lia!" He exclaimed, putting Scabbers down with a dramatic flair before rushing up to Dahlia. Before she could react, he lifted her into the air, spinning her around in a bear hug.

When he put her down, Hermione gave her a warm side-hug, still holding Crookshanks tightly.

"Lia... you look... wow," Ron said, his voice soft with admiration as he took in her new outfit. He hadn't really noticed her appearance until now.

Dahlia grinned, smoothing down the front of her fresh clothes. "I know, right? I finally remembered I don't have to keep wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs."

"Well, I'm glad you're not wearing those ghastly clothes anymore," Hermione added, glancing over her friend's outfit with approval.

"Yeah, mate, you're looking good, Ickle Liakins," Fred added, winking at her as he passed with George at his side.

"But imagine the boys we'll have to fight off now," George said with a mischievous grin.

The twins' banter was as entertaining as ever, but Dahlia couldn't help but smile, feeling the warmth of their friendship fill the space around her. It had been so long since she'd felt like she truly belonged anywhere, and this moment—this small piece of normalcy—felt like a much-needed breath of fresh air.

"So, are you guys ready to return to hogwarts?" Ron asked, reaching for the breakfast spread that had been laid out on the table.

After a quick breakfast with Ron, Hermione, and the twins, the room became more lively with the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, accompanied by Ginny and Percy. Dahlia felt herself tense slightly, her mind racing with what she had learned about Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley's involvement in the past.

"Dahlia, dear, how are you?" Mrs. Weasley asked warmly, enveloping her in a tight hug.

"I'm good, Mrs. Weasley, nice to see you," Dahlia said, offering a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She couldn't forget what she'd discovered, no matter how much she tried to bury the thoughts.

"Do you have everything?" Mrs. Weasley asked, glancing up at the stairs where Dahlia's things were packed away.

"Yes, it's all upstairs," Dahlia replied, nodding.

"Good girl," Mrs. Weasley beamed, clearly pleased.

Just as Dahlia was about to join the others, Mr. Weasley called her name, his tone serious. "Dahlia, may I have a word?"

Surprised, Dahlia followed him aside, her curiosity piqued. She had never had a private conversation with Mr. Weasley before.

"Hermione," Mr. Weasley greeted her with a brief smile, then turned to Dahlia as they moved a few steps away from the group.

"Looking forward to the new term?" he asked, attempting to make small talk. Dahlia nodded, thinking about the year ahead, and a certain Slytherin who had made quite an impression on her.

"Yeah, it should be great," she said, trying to keep the conversation light.

But Mr. Weasley's expression quickly turned serious as he pulled a wanted poster out of his coat pocket, holding it in front of her.

"Dahlia," he said quietly, his eyes scanning the alley before settling back on her, "some within the Ministry would strongly discourage me from divulging what I'm about to share with you. But I think you need to know the facts. You're in danger—grave danger."

Dahlia's heart skipped a beat. She knew this had something to do with Sirius Black.

"Has this got anything to do with Sirius Black, sir?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Mr. Weasley's expression darkened, and he nodded slowly. "What do you know about Sirius Black, Dahlia?"

"Only that he escaped Azkaban." And he's my godfather, my dad's best friend, she thought, but didn't say. The words felt like a weight she wasn't yet ready to carry.

"Do you know why?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Dahlia shook her head, her confusion growing. She was already piecing the fragmented information together, but nothing made sense.

"Thirteen years ago, when you—" Mr. Weasley stopped himself, as if the words had suddenly become too painful for him to say aloud. "When you stopped—"

"Voldemort."

 Arthur almost flinched as she said the name, the air growing heavy with the weight of it. She had never gotten used to the fear people had for the Dark Lord's name, but seeing Mr. Weasley visibly flinch made her realize just how much that fear still haunted so many.

"Don't say his name," Mr. Weasley warned quietly, looking over his shoulder as if expecting someone to hear.

Dahlia nodded quickly, even though she found it strange that the name still held so much power over people. "Sorry."

"Thirteen years ago, when you stopped You-Know-Who, Black lost everything," Mr. Weasley continued. "But to this day, he remains a faithful servant. And in his mind, you are the only thing standing in the way of him returning to power."

Dahlia felt a chill run down her spine as she processed what he was saying.

"So, you mean... he escaped Azkaban to find me?" she whispered, her voice shaking slightly.

"Yes," Mr. Weasley confirmed gravely. "And he will do anything to stop you from getting in his way."

"And kill me," Dahlia finished for him, her throat tightening. She couldn't help the words, couldn't stop the creeping horror that began to settle in her chest.

She had always known Sirius as her loving godfather, the man who was supposed to protect her. The man who had always been there for her family. But now they were painting him as a dangerous fugitive—a murderer. It didn't make sense.

"Dahlia, swear to me that whatever you might hear, you won't go looking for Sirius Black," Mr. Weasley said, his voice low and stern.

"Mr. Weasley... why would I go looking for someone who wants to kill me?" Dahlia said, the sarcasm dripping from her words. But despite the sarcasm, something inside her burned—a need for answers. The Sirius Black she knew wasn't anything like the man they were describing. But if he was still out there, if he truly was her godfather, she needed to find him and understand why everything had gone so horribly wrong.

But those were questions she wasn't sure anyone could answer.

Chapter Text

Dahlia sat cross-legged on her bed in the Leaky Cauldron, Ron and Hermione perched on chairs nearby. The room was small but cozy, the hum of activity from the pub below muffled by the thick floorboards. She fiddled nervously with the edges of her pillow, trying to find the right words to start.

"Guys?" she said softly.

Ron and Hermione turned to her in unison. "Yes, Lia?" they replied.

She hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath. "I have to tell you something."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, leaning forward, her brows furrowed with concern.

"Mr. Weasley reckons that Sirius Black is after me."

There was a brief pause before both of them exclaimed, "Wait, what?!"

"But they'll catch him, won't they?" Hermione said quickly, trying to sound optimistic. "I mean, everyone's looking for him. They'll find him eventually."

"Sure," Ron cut in, his voice laced with unease, "except no one's ever escaped from Azkaban before."

"That's... not all," Dahlia admitted, her voice dropping. She glanced at the two of them, trying to gauge their reactions. "He's my godfather."

"What?!" Ron blurted out, his jaw dropping.

Hermione's eyes widened. "How do you know that?"

Dahlia reached over to her bag, pulling out her inheritance test results. "It was in my parents' journal and confirmed by my inheritance test. It also says he was wrongfully imprisoned."

She handed the parchment to Hermione, who eagerly took it, her eyes scanning the contents. Ron leaned over her shoulder, his mouth falling open as he read.

"Uh... Lia? You're the Heiress of Slytherin?" Ron asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Oh, yeah. That," Dahlia said, waving it off awkwardly. "I meant to mention it."

Ron looked scandalized, but Hermione didn't seem phased, her focus still on the parchment. "Never mind that," Hermione muttered, her finger tracing a line on the document. "Ron, look at this. There's a voided marriage contract here... between you and Dahlia."

"What?!" Ron yelped, nearly toppling backward in his chair.

"It says it was arranged by your mum and Dumbledore," Dahlia said, grimacing as she tried to gauge Ron's reaction.

"Oh, thank Merlin it was voided," Ron said with a shudder. "That's like... incest! Marrying my sister or something. Why on earth did Mum think it was a good idea?"

"I don't know..." Dahlia trailed off, biting her lip.

Hermione cleared her throat, bringing their attention back. "There's more," she said grimly. "It also says Mrs. Weasley has been taking money from you, Lia."

"What?!" Ron's face flushed red as he stared at the parchment. He bolted to his feet, looking like he was ready to march downstairs and confront his mother.

"Ron, don't," Dahlia said quickly, grabbing his arm.

"But, Lia, this isn't right!" Ron argued, his voice rising in anger.

"I know," Dahlia said, her voice firm but quiet. "But please... let's just keep this between us for now. I don't want to cause a rift in your family because of this."

Ron hesitated, his fists clenching and unclenching before he finally sighed. "Fine. But don't think I didn't notice all those compulsions placed by Dumbledore on you," he muttered darkly.

"We won't let you be alone with him anymore," Hermione said, her voice resolute.

At the platform, Ron couldn't stop grinning as he brought up Dahlia's infamous incident with her uncle's sister. "Blowing up Aunt Marge was bloody brilliant," he said with a chuckle, nudging her playfully.

"It wasn't brilliant, Ronald!" Hermione scolded. "She's lucky she wasn't expelled. Do you know how serious that could have been?"

Dahlia smiled sheepishly, knowing Hermione was right but still feeling a small spark of satisfaction.

Once on the train, they struggled to find an empty compartment. Every seat was taken until they stumbled across one with a single occupant—a man dozing quietly in the corner.

"Who do you think that is?" Ron asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Professor R.J. Lupin," Hermione answered promptly

"How do you know everything?" Ron asked with exasperation.

"It's written on his suitcase, Ronald," Hermione said, rolling her eyes while pointing at the label on his battered suitcase.

Meanwhile...

Across the train, Theo Nott's eyes followed Dahlia as she passed their compartment. The sunlight streaming through the window highlighted her emerald-green eyes and the confident way she carried herself. For once, she wasn't wearing oversized, ill-fitting clothes, and Theo couldn't help but think she looked stunning.

"Well, damn, was that Potter?" Blaise Zabini asked, leaning forward to catch a better glimpse.

"I think so," Pansy Parkinson answered, sounding mildly impressed.

"She finally had a wardrobe change, I guess," Draco Malfoy drawled, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

"Thank Merlin for that," Pansy said with a dramatic sigh. "My eyes hurt every time I saw her in those ghastly rags. It's about time she started acting like the heiress she is."

"You reckon she'd go on a date with me to Hogsmeade?" Blaise mused aloud, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Theo, who had been silently reading his book, suddenly snapped it shut with a loud thud, making everyone jump.

"Blaise, come on," Draco said, smirking. "Surely you've got better taste than Potter."

"I don't know about you, Draco," Blaise shot back, "but Potter is perfect—heiress of an ancient house, famous, and she's... well, she's grown a lot over the summer."

"You will stay away from her, Blaise," Theo said suddenly, his voice sharp and commanding.

Everyone turned to look at him, startled by his tone.

"Don't tell me you're interested in her, Theo," Pansy said, her eyebrows arching.

"It's none of your business, Pansy," Theo replied coolly, his gaze flicking to each of them in turn. "But all of you will stay away from her. Especially you." His glare landed on Blaise, who held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Relax, mate," Blaise said, though his grin didn't falter. "No harm done."

Theo didn't respond, his jaw set as he returned to his book.

Meanwhile, back in the trio's compartment, Dahlia, Ron, and Hermione were chatting about their summers. The train suddenly jerked to a halt, throwing them off balance.

"We're here already?" Ron asked, dumbfounded.

"No, we can't be there yet," Hermione replied, frowning.

Dahlia stood and opened the door to see what was going on. Before she could step out, the train gave another lurch, sending her stumbling back into her seat.

"What's going on?" Ron asked, looking between them nervously.

"I don't know," Dahlia said, brushing herself off. "Maybe we've broken down."

Before anyone could reply, the lights flickered out, plunging the compartment into darkness.

"Ron, that's my foot!" Hermione yelped as he scrambled closer to the window.

"Sorry! But there's something moving out there," Ron said in a hushed, shaky voice, peering through the frosted glass. "I think someone's coming aboard."

The air grew colder—unnaturally so. Frost began to creep across the windows, the chill biting through their clothes.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed. "What's happening?"

Dahlia looked to the man in their compartment—the one still dozing peacefully, apparently unfazed by the chaos. Just then, a tall, shadowy figure loomed outside the door. The compartment slid open with an eerie creak, revealing a hooded creature gliding inside. A Dementor.

Ron and Hermione instinctively backed into the corner, their breaths shallow with fear. Scabbers darted into Ron's shirt, squeaking in panic.

The Dementor turned toward Dahlia, its presence suffocating and oppressive. A wave of despair hit her, harder than she could have imagined, as though every happy memory was being drained away. Her vision blurred, and her knees weakened.

Then came the scream. A piercing, heart-wrenching cry echoed in her mind—a woman's voice.

Suddenly, the man in their compartment stirred. He stood with surprising speed, drawing his wand. A silvery light erupted from its tip, and a brilliant Patronus burst forth, driving the Dementor away.

The chill dissipated, but darkness engulfed Dahlia, and she collapsed.

"Lia? Lia, are you all right?"

Familiar voices broke through the haze as Dahlia slowly regained consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open to see Ron and Hermione leaning over her, their faces etched with concern.

"I... I'm fine," she muttered, sitting up. Her head felt heavy, but she managed to steady herself.

A man crouched in front of her, holding out a piece of chocolate.

"Eat this. It'll help," he said gently.

Dahlia reached for her glasses and slipped them on. Her vision cleared, and she froze. The man before her was instantly familiar—the same face she had seen countless times in her parents' journal photos.

"Uncle Moony..." she whispered, her voice thick with disbelief.

The man—Professor Lupin—stared at her, his eyes wide. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, but then his expression softened.

"What you encountered," he began, "was a Dementor. One of Azkaban's guards. It's gone now."

He handed her the remaining chocolate. "Eat the rest. It'll help."

Dahlia took a hesitant bite, the warmth spreading through her almost instantly.

"If you'll excuse me," Lupin said, standing, "I need to have a word with the driver." Just before leaving, he glanced back at Dahlia, a faint smile on his lips.

"Take care of yourself, Prongslet."

Dahlia blinked, startled by the affectionate nickname, but she managed to return his smile.

As the door slid shut, she turned back to Ron and Hermione, who were staring at her with wide eyes.

"How do you know Professor Lupin?" Hermione asked, curiosity brimming in her tone.

"I... only know him a bit," Dahlia replied, avoiding their gazes.

"How?" Ron pressed.

"He was one of my parents' friends," she admitted, her tone quieter now.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look but didn't push further.

"What happened to me?" Dahlia asked, breaking the silence.

"Well," Ron began hesitantly, "you sort of... went rigid. We thought you were having a fit or something."

"Did either of you... you know... pass out?" Dahlia asked, nibbling on the chocolate.

"No," Ron said, shaking his head. "But it was awful. It was like... I'd never be happy again."

Hermione nodded. "Same here. It was the worst feeling. But... no screaming or anything."

Dahlia frowned. "There was. I heard someone screaming... a woman."

"No one was screaming, Dahlia," Hermione said gently.

Dahlia's brow furrowed, but she didn't argue. Instead, she turned her gaze to the frost still clinging to the window, her thoughts clouded with unease.

Chapter Text

The cool evening air was alive with the hum of excitement as students streamed toward the Great Hall, their chatter mingling with the crunch of leaves underfoot. Dahlia walked between Ron and Hermione, her expression thoughtful, her mind caught between the chilling memory of the Dementors and the troubling secrets she had unearthed.

Suddenly, a mocking voice sliced through the noise.

"Potter! Oh, Potter!" Draco Malfoy drawled, his words as sharp as the smirk on his pale face. He sauntered toward them, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering behind like oversized shadows. Blaise Zabini trailed a few steps back, looking more entertained than invested, while Theo Nott leaned against a pillar, observing the scene with crossed arms and an unreadable expression.

"Is it true?" Malfoy sneered, coming to a stop directly in front of Dahlia. "Did the great Potter faint like a helpless little girl on the train?"

Dahlia stopped in her tracks, her emerald eyes fixed on Malfoy with icy precision. "What's it to you, Malfoy? Hoping to make it the title of your memoir? How to Fail Spectacularly at Life?"

Hermione let out a quiet snort, while Ron's ears turned red as he stepped forward, his fists clenched. "Keep talking, Malfoy, and I'll make sure you're the one flat on the ground next."

Malfoy ignored Ron, his sneer widening as he kept his focus on Dahlia. "Oh, I'm just curious," he said, his voice light with mockery. "Big bad Potter—always the hero—undone by a Dementor. Looks like the Girl-Who-Lived isn't so fearless after all."

Before Dahlia could reply, Blaise spoke up, his tone cutting and laced with amusement. "Oh, please, Malfoy. Like you weren't the one bolting to the other compartment. Pretty sure you set a speed record. Or was that just you trying to outrun your own shadow?"

The group fell silent as the words hung in the air. Crabbe's awkward chuckle broke the tension, and Dahlia couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at her lips. Blaise wasn't finished. "What's next? Blaming Potter for your knees shaking and almost wetting yourself?"

Malfoy's pale face flushed a deep crimson. "I did no such thing!" he snapped, his voice a pitch higher than usual. "Why are you even defending them?"

Theo, who had been silently watching from his perch, pushed off the pillar and approached with measured steps. His voice was calm but firm. "Because, Draco, someone needs to stop you before you make an even bigger fool of yourself."

Malfoy's glare turned to Theo, his fury teetering on the edge of a tantrum. "I didn't ask for your opinion, Nott!"

"Good thing," Blaise interjected smoothly. "Because you'd regret it if you had."

Malfoy faltered, looking between Theo and Blaise for backup he wasn't going to get. With a huff, he spun on his heel, barking at Crabbe and Goyle. "Come on!" The two followed without question, their towering frames casting shadows in their wake.

Theo turned back to Dahlia, his gaze steady. There was no smile, but a flicker of respect passed between them. With a nod, he returned to Blaise, who was chuckling softly to himself.

"Git," Ron muttered as Malfoy disappeared into the Great Hall.

 "Let's just get inside," she said, and they continued toward the warm glow of the Great Hall.

The enchanted ceiling glittered with stars, and the floating candles bathed the hall in a welcoming glow. The trio slid into their usual spots at the Gryffindor table, the hum of student chatter filling the air. Dahlia's gaze drifted toward the staff table, settling on Dumbledore as he rose from his seat, his commanding presence silencing the room instantly.

"Welcome, everyone, to another year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore's voice was warm, his usual twinkle in place, though Dahlia caught the faint shadow of concern in his expression.

As he introduced Professor Lupin and announced Hagrid's promotion, the hall erupted in cheers and applause. Dahlia clapped with genuine enthusiasm, her spirits momentarily lifted. But as Dumbledore's tone turned somber, the air grew heavy.

"And now, I must address a grave matter," he said, his voice steady but serious. "As many of you know, the Ministry has stationed Dementors around the school grounds this year as a precaution while the search for Sirius Black continues."

The announcement sent a ripple of unease through the students. Dumbledore's gaze swept over them, his tone softening but losing none of its weight. "Let me be clear: Dementors are not to be trifled with. They are unforgiving and will not distinguish between the guilty and the innocent. I urge you all to exercise the utmost caution."

Dahlia shivered involuntarily, the memory of the train ride still vivid in her mind. Hermione leaned closer, her voice low and reassuring. "Don't let it get to you. We'll be fine."

"Yeah," Ron muttered, though his tone wavered with unease. "But Dementors and Malfoy in one term? Talk about overkill."

"Don't forget Snape," Dahlia added dryly, though her voice carried a trace of weariness. Her gaze drifted toward the staff table, lingering on Dumbledore. The faint flicker of trust she once held for him felt hollow now, overshadowed by the revelation she'd stumbled upon days ago.

"And Dumbledore," she murmured, her voice quieter this time, the weight of her thoughts settling heavily between them.

Dumbledore's closing words brought a flicker of hope. "Despite these challenges, let us not lose sight of the magic that binds us. May this year bring courage, camaraderie, and growth to us all."

As the golden plates filled with an array of food, the tense atmosphere began to ease. Conversations resumed, and the students turned their attention to the feast. But Dahlia's appetite remained subdued. She glanced at her friends, drawing quiet strength from their presence, and let herself hope—just for a moment—that this year might be kinder than the last two.

The Gryffindor common room was warm and cozy, the crackling fire casting flickering shadows on the walls. Dahlia sat with Ron and Hermione in their favorite corner, chatting about the classes they'd have the next day.

"I'm not particularly looking forward to Divination," Ron groaned, leaning back against the armchair. "Between the three of us, I only took it because it seemed easier than Ancient Runes or Arithmancy."

Dahlia chuckled, shaking her head. "Of course you did. But I wouldn't know—I'm taking Ancient Runes instead."

"What?!" Ron sat up straight, looking betrayed. "Dahlia, I thought we were supposed to have classes together! I can't believe you!"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Dahlia said with a laugh, playfully nudging him. "It's only one class, and we'll still have Care of Magical Creatures together. Besides, Hermione will be with you in Divination."

Ron frowned, his indignation melting into relief. "Oh, good. At least Hermione will be there to explain everything."

"What other classes are you taking, Hermione?" Dahlia asked curiously.

Hermione straightened up, her voice filled with pride. "If you must know, I'm taking all of them."

Ron blinked. "All of them? How is that even possible?"

"Yeah, Divination and Ancient Runes are at the same time," Dahlia added, narrowing her eyes.

Hermione hesitated for a split second, then waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, it's nothing. Just some clever scheduling. Anyway—let's talk about something else. Like Lia."

"Me?" Dahlia asked, startled.

Hermione nodded with a sly smile. "Yes, you. I think it's safe to say you haven't told us everything about your summer."

Dahlia tilted her head, feigning confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't think I didn't notice that little interaction between you and Nott at dinner," Hermione said, her grin widening.

Dahlia immediately felt her face heat up. "It's no big deal, really. We just bumped into each other at Flourish and Blotts. He helped me with my books and walked me back to the Leaky Cauldron."

"That was nice of him," Hermione said, clearly fishing for more.

"Yeah, that's surprising. Malfoy's friend, being nice to you," Ron said, folding his arms and looking suspicious.

Dahlia shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Yeah."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, her expression turning playful. "Lia, why are you blushing?"

"I'm not!" Dahlia protested quickly. "The room's just hot."

Ron glanced toward the window, raising an eyebrow. "Uh, Lia? I don't think you've noticed, but it's raining outside, and it's freezing in here."

"Well, I—" Dahlia stammered, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, both raising their eyebrows in unison as they stared at her expectantly.

Finally, Dahlia sighed, throwing her hands up. "Fine! I think he's... gotten more fit this summer, all right?"

Hermione let out a triumphant laugh. "I knew it!" she said, her grin so wide it practically lit up the room.

Ron groaned, rolling his eyes. "Great. Just what we need—another Slytherin getting under your skin. Next thing we know, you'll be inviting him to Hogsmeade."

Dahlia threw a cushion at him, laughing despite herself. "Oh, shut up, Ron!"

Hermione giggled, leaning closer to Dahlia. "So... do you think he likes you too?"

"Don't start," Dahlia muttered, covering her face with her hands as her friends burst into laughter.

The next morning, Dahlia and Hermione entered their first Ancient Runes class, the room buzzing with anticipation. Students were flipping through fresh parchment, and the faint scent of ink and old books filled the air. At the front of the room, Professor Babbling stood poised, her wand tapping lightly on her desk as she waited for the class to settle.

"Welcome to Ancient Runes," she began with a warm smile, her voice carrying easily across the room. "This year, we'll dive into the fascinating world of runic inscriptions—their meanings, origins, and practical applications. To start, we'll explore the Elder Futhark, one of the oldest and most studied runic alphabets."

With a flick of her wand, glowing runes materialized in the air, each accompanied by its name and basic meaning.

"This," she gestured to the first rune, "is Fehu, symbolizing wealth and prosperity. And this is Ansuz, representing communication and divine inspiration. Each rune carries layers of interpretation, which makes their study both intricate and rewarding. Take notes, everyone."

Dahlia glanced at Hermione, who was already scribbling furiously, her quill a blur against the parchment. Smiling, Dahlia began jotting down notes, her mind half-absorbed in the intricate designs and their meanings.

After an engaging discussion, Professor Babbling clapped her hands together, her eyes twinkling. "Now, for your first assignment: you'll work in pairs to choose a rune from today's lesson, research its deeper meanings, and present your findings to the class on Friday. There's just one condition."

She paused dramatically, her gaze sweeping the room. "Your partner will be from a different house."

The room erupted in groans, particularly from the Gryffindor side.

"Why is it always us?" Hermione muttered from the back.

Dahlia exchanged a resigned look with Hermione before dropping her head onto her desk. "Of course," she grumbled. "It had to be Slytherin."

"It's not that bad," Hermione said, though her voice carried little conviction. "Surely, there must be someone tolerable."

"Right," Dahlia snorted. "Someone who doesn't want to hex us on sight."

Professor Babbling ignored the murmurs and continued. "You have until tomorrow to coordinate with your partner and select your rune. Presentations will be on Friday."

As class ended, students began gathering their things, the chatter picking up again. Dahlia was busy shoving her notes into her bag when a voice interrupted her.

"Potter."

She looked up to find Theo Nott standing at her desk, Blaise Zabini leaning casually nearby with a faint smirk.

"Nott," Dahlia replied, blinking in surprise. "I see you actually signed up for Ancient Runes."

Theo's lips curved into a small, confident smile. "Of course. It's a bit more intellectually thrilling than Divination. Besides..." His voice softened, and his gaze lingered on her. "...there's someone here worth working with."

Dahlia felt her cheeks flush, her hand faltering as she stuffed parchment into her bag.

Hermione's quill paused mid-air, and she shot Dahlia a sidelong glance, her smirk unmistakable.

Blaise, clearly enjoying the moment, chimed in smoothly. "We figured it would be logical to partner up. Granger, you can work with me, and Potter—" He nodded toward Theo. "You're with him."

Theo leaned slightly closer, his expression calm but purposeful. "Library. Later at five. Don't be late."

Dahlia swallowed, nodding. "Uh, yeah. Sure. That works."

As the Slytherins turned to leave, Hermione wasted no time leaning in, her grin stretching ear to ear. "He's so into you."

Dahlia's cheeks flamed. "Shut up, Mione."

"I'm just saying," Hermione teased, nudging her with an elbow. "He didn't just ask. He arranged. That's effort."

Rolling her eyes, Dahlia groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Please, you're reading way too much into this. It's just an assignment. He probably just tolerates me more than the other Gryffindors. Maybe because of the time we spent at Diagon Alley." She paused, muttering, "He doesn't like me. I mean, I'm just... me."

Hermione arched a brow, her voice laced with disbelief. "You, who happens to be the heiress of four ancient houses, with a knack for heroics, and not to mention..." She grinned. "...a very beautiful girl?"

Dahlia groaned louder, tugging her bag over her shoulder. "Mione, you're impossible."

Hermione just laughed, linking her arm with Dahlia's as they headed to their next class. "You'll thank me when he asks you to Hogsmead."

Dahlia sputtered. "My aunt and uncle didn't even sign my permission form!"

Hermione shrugged, her smirk unrelenting. "There's always next year."

Later, as they walked toward Care of Magical Creatures, Ron broke the silence. "Honestly, I'm beginning to regret taking Divination. If you'd been in that class, I'm sure Professor Trelawney would've been going on about death and grim predictions." He paused, glancing over at Dahlia. "How's Ancient Runes without me?"

Dahlia rolled her eyes, chuckling. "Honestly, Ron, the way you talked about your Divination class. Ancient Runes was definitely more interesting."

"Oh really?" Hermione teased, "Was it more interesting because a certain Slytherin asked you to be his partner?"

"What?" Ron blinked in surprise, looking between Hermione and Dahlia.

"Mione!" Dahlia groaned.

"Yeah, we had a homework assignment, and we were supposed to partner with someone from a different house. Guess who asked little Lia to partner up?" Hermione said, smirking.

Dahlia couldn't help but groan again. "Please, not this again."

As they made their way to Hagrid's hut, Ron stopped in his tracks. "Wait a second. You were in Ancient Runes? But you were with me the whole time in Divination," he said, confusion in his voice. "How is that possible?"

"Don't be silly, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "You can't be in two places at once, even if you try to use your 'inner eye.'" She mocked Trelawney's tone as she said it.

Ron laughed. "I think you should have let me try! Would've been fun to see!"

The class gathered near Hagrid's hut, and he led them toward a spot just outside the Forbidden Forest. "Open your books to page 49, class," Hagrid said, waving them forward.

"How do we do that?" Malfoy's voice rang out, sounding skeptical.

"Just stroke the spine, of course," Hagrid grumbled. "Goodness me, it's not hard."

The students did as instructed, opening their books without incident, though Neville had trouble. As soon as he took the strap off his book, it immediately attacked him, causing the class to laugh.

Seamus snickered. "Don't be such a wimp, Longbottom."

Dahlia scowled, walking over to help him. "I'd like to see you survive a monster book attack, Seamus."

Seamus quickly apologized and backed away, but Dahlia muttered under her breath. "Arsehole," as she calmed Neville's book down.

"Thank you, Lia," Neville said, smiling sheepishly as she handed him his book. "You didn't need to do that, though."

Dahlia smiled. "It's my job, Nev. You're my godbrother. And besides, someone's got to look out for you."

"Yeah, well, I think the book's funny," Hermione said, coming to join them. "They are kind of amusing, right?"

"Funny? Sure. Until my father hears Dumbledore's letting an oaf like Hagrid teach creatures like that," Malfoy sneered, looking over at Hagrid.

Lia rolled her eyes, speaking up in return. "Shut up, Malfoy. We don't need to hear you bring up your daddy every minute."

Malfoy smirked and then his expression turned to scared as he pointed and shouted. "Dementor! Dementor!" Most of theclass turned to look at what Malfoy pointed at but quickly gave him an unimpressed look since there was no dementor in sight but the Slytherin just laugh while flailing his arms and pretending to be a Dementor. His friends followed suit, mocking the idea of a Dementor.

Theo watched, unimpressed by Malfoy's antics, and Lia shot him a glance. Hermione pulled Dahlia aside as they watched the Slytherins make fools of themselves.

"Just ignore him," Ron muttered to Dahlia, his voice low.

"You're supposed to stroke it," Hagrid said to Neville.

"Yeah, yeah," Neville muttered, still slightly rattled from his earlier encounter.

Then, as if on cue, Hagrid made a loud trumpet-like noise and the class gasped as a magnificent hippogriff appeared.

"Say hello to Buckbeak!" Hagrid exclaimed, grinning proudly.

Most of the students recoiled in fear, but Hermione and Dahlia stood tall, intrigued by the majestic creature.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Hagrid asked.

"Uh, Hagrid, what exactly is that?" Ron asked, his voice nervous.

"That, Ron, is a hippogriff," Hagrid said, giving them all a serious look. "First thing you need to know about hippogriffs is that they're very proud creatures. They're easily offended, so you don't want to insult them. Now, who'd like to come up and say hello?"

No one volunteered, causing Dahlia to sigh. Realizing she was the only one standing in front, she gave her friends an exasperated look.

"Well done, Lia," Hermione whispered with a wink. "You're up."

Dahlia's hesitation was clear, but Ron gently nudged her forward. "Go on. Just let him make the first move. It's only polite."

Lia, visibly nervous, took a deep breath and stepped forward slowly.

"Nice and low," Hagrid instructed.

As she bowed, Buckbeak made an inquisitive noise, but then, just as she began to step back, a twig snapped beneath her foot. She jumped, and Buckbeak reacted, clearly annoyed.

"Back off, Lia. Back off!" Hagrid shouted, and Dahlia stepped back hastily.

As she breathed a sigh of relief, Hagrid encouraged her again. "Okay, go ahead, give him a pat."

With a little more confidence now, Dahlia approached Buckbeak. Hermione, out of instinct, grabbed Ron's hand, but quickly let go when she realized what she'd done. No one noticed, though, save for Blaise, who watched the entire interaction with a knowing smirk.

When Dahlia patted Buckbeak, Hagrid's face lit up. "You did it, Lia! You're a natural!"

Before Dahlia could fully process what had just happened, Hagrid said, "I think you can ride him now."

"What?" Dahlia yelped, but before she could protest, Hagrid had lifted her up onto Buckbeak's back.

"I've got this, Lia," Hagrid said, grinning as Buckbeak took off into the air. Lia clung to him for dear life, cursing Hagrid, her friends, and even the hippogriff for putting her in this situation.

But as they soared over Hogwarts, her terror slowly morphed into awe, and she let out a delighted scream as the wind rushed past her. When Buckbeak finally landed, the class erupted into applause. 

"I am so going to get you two back for this," Dahlia threatened, shooting a glare at her friends.

"Oh, come on, Lia. Admit it—you enjoyed the ride!" Hermione teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Dahlia rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Sure, it was... thrilling," she said, crossing her arms. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to get you two back. And when I do, it'll be legendary."

Ron chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, we'll be on our toes."

"You should be," Dahlia warned, her smile turning into a sly grin as she pointed at both of them. "Because the payback is going to be brilliant."

Just then, everyone turned to see Draco Malfoy strutting up to Buckbeak, his usual arrogance radiating off him.

"Not dangerous at all, is it?" Malfoy sneered, completely disregarding Hagrid's warning. He took another step forward, confident that the majestic creature would bow to him.

But as he got closer, Buckbeak's feathers ruffled, and with one swift, powerful motion, the hippogriff lunged. Malfoy yelped in surprise and pain, stumbling backward. "It's killed me! It's killed me!" he cried out dramatically, flailing his arms as he collapsed onto the ground.

The class stood frozen for a moment, watching his theatrics, before Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered, "You should take him to the hospital wing, Hagrid."

Hagrid, looking unphased by the display, crouched down and began to haul the whining Malfoy to his feet. "Come on, Draco, you'll live," Hagrid said gruffly.

As the rest of the class exchanged knowing glances and a few stifled laughs, Malfoy continued to curse under his breath, "My father will hear about this! I'll have you fired, you oaf!"

Chapter Text

Later that evening, just as planned, Dahlia made her way to the library to meet Theo and work on their Ancient Runes project. Hermione had left earlier to meet Blaise, leaving Dahlia to find Theo on her own. She wandered through the rows of towering shelves until she spotted him near the far end of the library. He was seated at a quiet table, scribbling intently on a piece of parchment.

Clearing her throat to grab his attention, Dahlia waited as Theo looked up.

"Ah, Potter. You're here," he greeted, his tone neutral but polite.

"Dahlia is fine," she replied, setting her bag down. "Where are Zabini and Hermione?"

Theo shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Somewhere around here, I imagine. But if you're offering your given name, then it's only proper you call me Theo." He gave her a small smirk.

Her mind flickered briefly to the etiquette book the goblins had gifted her. It was true—when a wizard or witch allowed the use of their given name, it was a gesture of friendship and mutual respect. She nodded slightly. "Alright, Theo."

"Good," he said simply, his smirk softening.

She glanced at the parchment he'd been writing on. "What are you working on?"

"Just sorting my Arithmancy notes," Theo replied, pushing the paper slightly to the side as if to make room for their upcoming project.

Dahlia leaned in curiously. "Oh, that looks interesting."

Theo's brow lifted slightly, amused by her interest. "It's fascinating, really. Arithmancy is like Divination, but grounded in numerology. It's why I dropped Divination—it felt like a waste compared to this."

"I can see that," Dahlia replied, nodding thoughtfully. "Numbers feel a bit... more solid than tea leaves."

"Exactly," Theo said with a small smile, appreciating her insight.

"Shall we start?" he asked after a moment, pulling their Runes textbook closer.

"Let's," Dahlia agreed, and the two dove into their assignment. They poured over the runes they had studied earlier, debating which one to present and how to approach their research. After some deliberation, they settled on a rune that resonated with both of them and began delving deeper into its meanings, discussing how to structure their presentation.

As the session wound down, Theo set his quill aside and leaned back in his chair. "You know," he said, glancing at her, "I think I made a good choice partnering with you. You're easy to work with—much better than most people I've been paired with before."

Dahlia smiled, a little surprised by the compliment. "You're not so bad yourself."

Just as she said it, her quill slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. She bent down to grab it, but Theo moved at the same time. Their hands brushed briefly as they both reached for the quill, and Dahlia froze when she realized how close their faces were.

For a moment, Theo's usually composed expression faltered, his gray eyes locking onto hers. He recovered quickly, grabbing the quill and handing it to her. "Here," he said, his voice quieter than before.

"Thanks," Dahlia murmured, her gaze lingering on him a second longer than she meant to.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Startled, both of them stood quickly and turned to see Hermione and Blaise standing a few feet away, their expressions practically oozing amusement.

"My, my," Blaise drawled, smirking at Theo. "How this will shatter the hearts of all those heiresses who fawn over you, Theo."

"Shut up, Blaise," Theo said flatly, though a hint of color crept into his cheeks.

Hermione crossed her arms, her smirk directed at Dahlia. "So, Lia, are you two done? I was hoping we could walk to the Great Hall together."

Dahlia cleared her throat, trying to ignore the heat rising to her face. "Oh, uh, yeah, we're done. Thanks for today, Theo."

"The pleasure's all mine, Dahlia," Theo replied smoothly, his tone back to its usual composed self.

As Dahlia and Hermione left the library, Blaise's laughter echoed faintly behind them, along with a low grumble from Theo.

Hermione wasted no time teasing Dahlia the entire way back to the Great Hall. "You know," she began with a sly grin, "you two looked awfully cozy back there. I could practically hear the wedding bells."

Dahlia groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "Stop it, Mione."

Hermione only laughed. "I'm just saying. Theo Nott doesn't go out of his way for just anyone."

"He doesn't like me," Dahlia insisted, though her voice wavered slightly. "It's just a project. And he's polite. That's all."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," Hermione replied, her tone dripping with amusement.

Dahlia sighed, resigned to Hermione's teasing on their way to dinner.

The next morning at breakfast, the trio sat at the Gryffindor table, doing their best to ignore Draco Malfoy's theatrics at the Slytherin table two rows over. His exaggerated groans of distress and Pansy Parkinson's fawning were impossible to miss.

"He's really laying it on thick, isn't he?" Hermione said, her tone dripping with disdain as she buttered her toast.

"Overdoing it is more like it," Ron added, stabbing his eggs with unnecessary force. "Look at Parkinson—she's acting like he's been mortally wounded!"

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "At least Hagrid didn't get fired over it. That's what matters."

Hermione nodded but frowned slightly. "I heard his father's furious, though. We probably haven't heard the end of it."

Before they could dwell on the subject, Seamus suddenly let out a loud exclamation from a few seats down. "He's been sighted!"

The Gryffindor table fell silent as everyone turned to him.

"Who?" Ron asked, leaning closer.

"Sirius Black!" Seamus declared, slapping the Daily Prophet onto the table for everyone to see.

Dahlia, Ron, and Hermione leaned in to look at the front page. Sure enough, a moving image of Sirius Black glared out at them, his gaunt face and wild eyes making him look every bit the fugitive.

"Dufftown?" Hermione said, her brow furrowing. "That's not far from here."

A murmur ran through the Gryffindor table. "You don't think he'll come to Hogwarts, do you?" one student asked nervously.

"With Dementors guarding every entrance?" another piped up, trying to sound reassuring but failing to mask their own unease.

Seamus snorted. "He slipped past them once already. Who's to say he won't do it again?"

"Exactly," Dean chimed in, his tone grave. "Black could be anywhere. It's like trying to catch smoke."

"Like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands," Seamus echoed dramatically, earning a few nods from the group.

As the chatter grew louder, Dahlia's eyes remained fixed on the moving image of Sirius Black. The rest of the world seemed to fade as she stared at his hollowed face and the shadows behind his haunted eyes. A strange pang settled in her chest—a mix of curiosity, sadness, and something else she couldn't quite name.

She tore her gaze away from the paper and looked at Hermione. "Do you think he'll try to get into the castle?" she asked quietly, her voice almost a whisper.

Hermione hesitated, glancing at the photo. "I don't know," she admitted. "But if he's desperate enough, anything's possible."

Dahlia nodded absently, her thoughts drifting. A part of her almost hoped Sirius would come to Hogwarts. She couldn't explain why, but there was a growing need within her to see him—to ask him questions that no one else could answer. What happened after my parents died? Why does everyone see you as a deranged murderer?

"Earth to Dahlia," Ron said, waving a hand in front of her face. "You alright?"

"Yeah," she said quickly, snapping out of her thoughts. "I'm fine."

"Honestly," Hermione muttered as she folded the Prophet, "between Malfoy's antics, Dementors, and Black, this term's already off to a maddening start."

"You're telling me," Ron said, stuffing a sausage into his mouth. "And it's only breakfast."

Dahlia smiled faintly at her friends' banter, but her mind stayed on Sirius Black, her questions swirling as the morning buzz carried on around her.

As they made their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Neville's hesitant voice called out from behind.

"Lia," he said softly.

Dahlia turned, offering him a small smile. "Yes, Nev?"

He hesitated, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "How are you? You know... with everything that's going on, especially with Sirius Black."

Dahlia let out a breath, her shoulders tensing slightly. "If I'm being honest, Nev, I don't know," she admitted, her voice quieter than usual. "I'm confused about all of this. I mean... he's my godfather. My parents thought so highly of him, trusted him with me. And then there's the inheritance test—it even says he was wrongfully imprisoned. But still, the rest of the world thinks he's some deranged, murdering lunatic."

She gestured vaguely, frustration evident in her tone. "How does that even happen? How could someone they loved so much... turn into this?"

Neville grimaced sympathetically, shuffling on his feet. "You'll find out everything soon, Lia. I'm sure of it. Knowing you, you'll dig to the bottom of this faster than anyone else could."

Dahlia smiled weakly at his encouragement, though her brow remained furrowed. "I hope you're right, Nev. Because all of this... it just doesn't make sense."

He gave her a reassuring nod. "You're strong. And stubborn," he added with a small chuckle. "You'll figure it out."

"Thanks, Nev," she said, her voice soft but grateful.

Before they could continue, Ron called from a few steps ahead. "Oi, are you two coming, or should we save you a seat?"

Neville laughed nervously. "We're coming!" Turning back to Dahlia, he gestured toward the hallway. "Come on, we need to head to DADA before Snape sees us and decides to give us detention for something random."

Dahlia rolled her eyes but smiled. "Right, because nothing says 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' like Snape glaring at us for breathing."

They both laughed quietly, falling into step with the rest of the group as they made their way to class.

When they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, the students stopped short, murmurs spreading through the group. Instead of the usual desks and chairs, the room was wide open, cleared of any furniture. At the center stood Professor Lupin, calm and collected, with an old, rattling wardrobe beside him. Every so often, the cabinet shook violently, as if something inside was trying to break free.

"What's in there?" Ron whispered nervously to Dahlia, who shrugged, equally puzzled.

As the last of the students shuffled in, Professor Lupin smiled warmly at the group and began to stroll around them, his hands clasped behind his back. "Good morning, everyone. Now, would anyone like to venture a guess as to what we have here?" He gestured to the rattling wardrobe.

Dahlia raised her hand tentatively. "That's a boggart, isn't it?"

"Very good, Miss Potter," Professor Lupin said, nodding in approval.

At that moment, the cabinet gave an especially loud shudder, causing a few students to flinch.

"Can anyone tell me," Professor Lupin continued, his voice calm and steady, "what a boggart looks like?"

"No one knows," Hermione answered quickly from behind Ron and Dahlia, making both of them jump.

"When did she get here?" Ron muttered, clutching his chest.

Ignoring Ron, Hermione pressed on. "Boggarts are shape-shifters. They take the form of whatever a person fears the most. That's what makes them so—"

"So terrifying, yes," Professor Lupin interrupted gently, smiling as he nodded. "But luckily, there's a very simple charm to repel a boggart. Let's practice the incantation now—without wands, please. After me: Riddikulus."

The students echoed him tentatively, their voices uncertain.

"Louder, now. Listen carefully—Riddikulus!"

"Riddikulus!" the students repeated, this time with more confidence.

"This class is ridiculous," Malfoy muttered from the back, earning snickers from Crabbe and Goyle. Theo and Blaise, however, rolled their eyes, clearly unimpressed by Malfoy's commentary.

Professor Lupin paid no mind to the interruption. "Excellent! Now, the incantation is important, but it's not enough. What truly defeats a boggart is laughter. You must force it to assume a form that you find amusing—something so ridiculous that fear is replaced by humor. Let me show you what I mean."

He gestured toward Neville, who froze in place like a deer caught in headlights.

"Mr. Longbottom, would you join me?"

Neville looked around nervously. "M-me, Professor?"

"Yes, yes, come along," Lupin encouraged, his tone gentle. "No need to be shy."

Neville shuffled forward reluctantly, his wide eyes darting between the wardrobe and Professor Lupin.

"Now, Neville," Lupin began, crouching slightly to meet Neville's gaze, "what frightens you the most?"

Neville mumbled something incomprehensible.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that," Lupin said kindly.

Neville swallowed hard and said a bit louder, "P-Professor Snape."

The class erupted in laughter, and even Lupin couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"Ah, yes, Professor Snape," Lupin said with a twinkle in his eye. "He frightens us all a little, doesn't he? But don't worry, Neville. I have an idea. You live with your grandmother, don't you?"

"Yes," Neville replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Excellent. Now, I want you to picture something for me—imagine Professor Snape... wearing your grandmother's clothes."

Neville blinked, his nervous expression giving way to confusion. "Her clothes?"

"Exactly," Lupin said with a reassuring nod. "Picture her hat, her dress, perhaps even that distinctive handbag she carries. Do you have it in your mind?"

Neville nodded hesitantly. "She's got a red handbag."

"Perfect!" Lupin said brightly. "When the boggart appears, I want you to focus on that image. Picture it clearly, say the incantation, and let the laughter do the rest. Ready? Wand at the ready... One, two, three!"

Lupin flicked his wand, and the wardrobe creaked open. A moment later, out stepped Professor Snape, his face stern and menacing as he stalked toward Neville.

Neville froze, trembling slightly as the towering figure loomed closer.

"Think, Neville—your grandmother's clothes!" Lupin prompted, his voice encouraging.

"R-Riddikulus!" Neville stammered, waving his wand.

The boggart-turned-Snape stumbled backward as his clothing morphed into an absurdly frilly dress, complete with a towering feathered hat and a bright red handbag dangling from one arm. The class burst into laughter, their giggles filling the room.

"Excellent, Neville, excellent!" Lupin clapped. "Well done!"

One by one, the students stepped forward to face the boggart, each casting the charm successfully and filling the room with laughter. Dean turned a severed hand into a tap-dancing glove, while Seamus transformed a banshee into a comical opera singer.

Finally, it was Dahlia's turn. As she stepped forward, she felt her palms grow sweaty. She tightened her grip on her wand, forcing herself to breathe steadily.

The boggart emerged, shifting and contorting until it solidified into a Dementor, its towering form filling the space with an icy chill.

Dahlia froze, the laughter of her classmates fading into silence as the cold crept into her chest. She tried to lift her wand, but her arm felt like lead.

Before she could react, Professor Lupin stepped in front of her, his wand raised. The boggart immediately shifted, transforming into a pale, full moon.

"Riddikulus!" Lupin said firmly. The moon popped like a balloon, eliciting nervous chuckles from the students.

"Class dismissed!" Lupin announced abruptly, ushering the students out of the room with a wave of his hand.

As they left, Dahlia felt Hermione and Ron fall into step beside her.

"You okay, Lia?" Hermione asked softly, concern etched across her face.

"Yeah," Dahlia said quietly, though her hands were still trembling. "I'm fine."

Ron shot a glance back at the closed classroom door. "Blimey, a Dementor. No wonder you froze. Those things are terrifying."

Dahlia nodded but didn't reply, her mind still lingering on the image of the cloaked figure and the chilling dread it brought with it.

After the overwhelming Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Dahlia wandered the castle corridors, her thoughts swirling. The encounter with the boggart had shaken her more than she cared to admit, and she sought the solace of solitude. So lost was she in her musings that she didn't notice someone coming toward her until she walked straight into them.

She stumbled slightly, gasping softly as her gaze shot upward to meet familiar dark eyes. Theodore Nott stood before her, tall and composed, his lips twitching into a knowing smirk.

"Potter," he drawled, his tone light but teasing. "If you wanted to run into me, you could've just said so."

"Oh, Theo! I—I wasn't paying attention," Dahlia stammered, stepping back in embarrassment. "Sorry about that."

"Clearly," he said, arms folding casually across his chest as he observed her with curiosity. "You looked like you were in another world. What's got the savior of the wizarding world so preoccupied?"

Dahlia hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. "I just... needed some air. It's been an overwhelming few weeks."

Theo's teasing expression softened slightly. "I can imagine. That boggart didn't help, did it?"

Dahlia glanced away, her hands fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. "Not really," she admitted quietly. "It's just... everything. Classes, the Sirius Black stuff, the boggart. It's a lot."

He tilted his head, studying her with surprising patience. "Sounds like you've got quite the weight on your shoulders, Cara. Want some company to help lighten it?"

Her head shot up, her eyes wide with surprise. "You... want to walk with me?"

Theo smirked. "Why not? Unless you think being seen with me will ruin your reputation."

Dahlia laughed softly. "I was more worried about your reputation. Wouldn't Draco and the others mind?"

Theo leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "Draco knows better than to cross me. And as for the others..." He gave a casual shrug. "I couldn't care less what they think. So, what do you say? Shall we, Cara?"

Her cheeks flushed at the way his smooth voice wrapped around the nickname. "O-okay. If you're sure."

"Good," he said, falling into step beside her. "Let's see where your wandering takes us."

As they walked, their conversation flowed easily. Theo asked her about their Ancient Runes assignment, and they speculated about what Professor Trelawney might predict next. Theo's wit kept her laughing, and his occasional flirtatious remarks left her blushing.

At one point, he glanced at her, a sly smile curling his lips. "You know, for someone who's meant to be the savior of the wizarding world, you're surprisingly shy."

Dahlia laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not shy. Just... cautious."

"Cautious?" Theo echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Interesting choice of words. Does that mean I'm a danger to you?"

She rolled her eyes, trying to fight back a grin. "You wish."

"Ah, so you're saying I'm harmless?" he asked, pretending to look offended. "Ouch, Cara. You wound me."

Dahlia laughed outright at that, shaking her head. "Hopeless," she muttered under her breath.

"Hm, perhaps," he said with a grin. "But I'd rather be hopeless than boring."

As they approached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, Theo stopped, turning to face her. "Looks like this is your stop."

"Thanks for walking with me," Dahlia said, her smile genuine. "It... helped."

Theo smirked, leaning slightly closer. "The pleasure's all mine, Cara. I'm always happy to spend time with you."

Her blush deepened, and she quickly looked away. "See you tomorrow?"

"Count on it," he said smoothly. "We'll absolutely kill our presentation. Well, you will—I'm mostly there to look pretty."

Dahlia laughed, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're brilliant," he said with a wink. "Goodnight, Potter."

"Goodnight," she said softly, watching him as he turned and strolled back toward the dungeons, his confidence unmistakable.

Just as she turned toward the portrait, it swung open to reveal Hermione and Ron. Hermione looked relieved and immediately pulled Dahlia inside.

"There you are! I was about to send a search party," Hermione said, her hands on her hips. "You've been gone for over an hour."

"An hour?" Dahlia repeated, blinking in surprise. "I didn't realize—"

Ron gave her an exasperated look. "Mione's been pacing holes into the carpet."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, her gaze sharp. "Why are you blushing?"

"I'm not!" Dahlia said quickly, but her voice was unconvincing.

"Oh, you absolutely are," Hermione countered. "Spill it. Who were you with?"

"No one," Dahlia mumbled, avoiding her best friend's piercing stare.

"Lia," Hermione said in a warning tone, "you can't lie to me."

Dahlia groaned, throwing her hands up. "Fine! I bumped into Theo, and he... walked me back."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Theodore Nott walked you back? And you're blushing like that?"

"Don't start," Dahlia said, her voice tinged with embarrassment.

Hermione smirked knowingly. "Oh, Lia. This is definitely a story I want to hear more about."

Meanwhile, Theo returned to the Slytherin common room, only to find Draco, Pansy, and Blaise blocking his path. Blaise, as always, was wearing his trademark smirk.

"Well, well," Draco drawled, arms crossed. "Care to explain why you were seen walking Potter back to her common room?"

Theo sighed, clearly unimpressed. "It's none of your business, Draco."

"Are you courting her?" Pansy asked sharply, narrowing her eyes.

"Not yet," Theo said smoothly, his expression calm.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "So you're planning to, then?"

Theo shrugged. "Obviously. I wouldn't go out of my way for just anyone."

Draco threw his hands up dramatically. "But why Potter?"

"Why not Potter?" Theo countered, his tone calm but firm.

"She's—she's insufferable!" Draco spluttered. "And if you court her, I'll have to talk to her. You're asking me to be... civil!"

"That sounds like a you problem," Theo said, brushing past him with a smirk. "Goodnight, Draco."

As Theo walked off, Blaise burst into laughter, clapping a hand on Draco's shoulder. "He's got a point, mate. Maybe you should start practicing your manners."

"I—I have manners!" Draco spluttered again.

Blaise burst into laughter as Draco's expression twisted into one of frustration. As they walked back to the common room, Blaise continued to tease Theo, his grin only widening as Theo rolled his eyes, taking it all in stride.

The next day in Ancient Runes, the class buzzed with activity as everyone prepared for their presentations. Students sat with their partners, scribbling notes and practicing their explanations. However, at one corner of the classroom, Theo and Dahlia seemed to be doing everything but preparing. Or rather, Theo was doing his best to make Dahlia blush, and she was failing miserably at hiding it.

"You're not going to have any last-minute discussions?" Hermione asked, glancing over at them from her seat beside Blaise.

Theo smirked, leaning back in his chair. "No need. We've got this. We're going to ace it and get an O."

Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh, really? That confident?"

"Of course, we are," Theo replied smoothly, flashing one of his signature grins. "Potter here is brilliant. She's going to absolutely slay this presentation, and I'll just stand there, looking gorgeous for the audience."

Dahlia rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched into a small smile. "He's kidding."

Blaise snickered, leaning forward. "You sure about that? He seems pretty serious about the 'looking gorgeous' part."

"I am gorgeous, Blaise," Theo said matter-of-factly, winking at Dahlia. "And you're just jealous I have a partner who's as sharp as she is charming."

"Merlin," Dahlia muttered under her breath, her cheeks flushing pink.

"Focus," Hermione cut in, though she looked amused. "Let's see if your confidence is justified after the presentations."

When it was finally their turn, Theo and Dahlia stepped up to the front of the class. Hermione and Blaise had gone before them, earning an E for their solid work, and the bar was set high.

Theo straightened his posture, shooting Dahlia a quick, encouraging smile. "Ready, Potter?"

She nodded, her nerves fading slightly at the steadiness in his tone. Together, they launched into their explanation of the rune they had chosen—a more obscure one that wasn't fully covered in their lessons. They alternated seamlessly, each picking up where the other left off. Dahlia explained the history and cultural significance, while Theo elaborated on its practical applications in modern spellwork, his voice confident and steady.

At one point, Theo added an insight that wasn't in their notes, and Dahlia gave him a surprised look. He smirked at her, clearly pleased with himself, and continued speaking as though it was all part of the plan.

When they finished, Professor Babbling clapped her hands together, a pleased expression on her face. "Very impressive, Mr. Nott and Miss Potter. Not only did you cover the rune thoroughly, but you also expanded on areas we haven't discussed in class. Outstanding work. You both earn an O."

As they returned to their seats, Theo turned to Hermione and Blaise with a smug grin. "See? I told you we'd ace it."

"You certainly lived up to your confidence," Hermione admitted, though there was a teasing edge to her tone. "Still, I'd like to think Blaise and I weren't too far behind."

"Sure, Granger," Theo said with a playful drawl. "But if you need tips on how to charm the audience next time, Potter and I are happy to help."

"Speak for yourself," Dahlia said, shaking her head at him. "You were the one charming the audience."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Potter," Theo replied, leaning slightly closer. "But keep it up. I like where you're going."

Dahlia rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her. Blaise chuckled as the four of them settled back into their seats, the energy in the room relaxed now that the pressure of the presentations had passed.

Chapter Text

It was the weekend, and students buzzed with excitement as Professor McGonagall explained the rules for Hogsmeade. Dahlia stood off to the side, clutching her unsigned permission slip, trying to muster the courage to approach.

When the professor finished, Dahlia stepped forward. "Professor McGonagall, please... I know it's late, but could you sign my form? I don't have anyone else to do it."

McGonagall's stern expression softened, but she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Miss Potter. I wish I could help, but only a parent or guardian has the authority to sign this. I'm afraid my hands are tied."

Dahlia let out a resigned sigh, nodding. "I understand, Professor. Thank you anyway."

As McGonagall turned away, Hermione and Ron approached her, both frowning.

"Lia, we can skip it," Hermione offered immediately. "We don't have to go."

Dahlia shook her head, forcing a smile. "Don't be silly. You've been looking forward to this all week."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked, clearly conflicted.

"Positive," Dahlia said firmly. "But bring me back some sweets, okay?"

Ron chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Of course, you'd want sweets."

Hermione kissed Dahlia on the cheek, and Ron patted her shoulder as they turned to leave. "We'll see you later, Lia!" Hermione called over her shoulder.

With no plans for the day, Dahlia wandered aimlessly through the castle, her footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. She was so lost in thought that she didn't notice someone approaching until a warm voice interrupted her.

"Dahlia?"

She turned to see Remus Lupin walking toward her, concern evident in his kind eyes. "What are you doing here? Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"They went to Hogsmeade," Dahlia said, her tone subdued.

"Ah," Remus said knowingly. "And you couldn't go?"

Dahlia shook her head. "No permission slip."

Remus frowned slightly, his hands slipping into his robe pockets. "That hardly seems fair. How about this—would you like to take a walk with me? I was just heading out myself."

Dahlia hesitated before nodding. "I'd like that."

The two strolled through the grounds, eventually finding themselves at the Quidditch pitch. They sat in the stands, the cool breeze ruffling their hair. For a while, they sat in companionable silence, watching as the autumn leaves fluttered across the field.

"I owe you an apology, Prongslet," Remus said, breaking the quiet. "I haven't had the chance to properly speak with you since the train."

"It's okay, Professor. I know you're busy," Dahlia replied softly.

"Still," Remus said, his voice tinged with guilt. "I imagine you've had a lot on your mind. Especially after... the boggart."

Dahlia bit her lip, her gaze dropping to her lap. "Can I ask you something, Uncle Moony?"

He smiled faintly at the name. "Of course."

"Why didn't you let me face it? Did you think it would turn into Voldemort?" she asked, her voice quieter now.

"That was my assumption," Remus admitted. "But I could see how the dementor affected you. I thought... well, I wasn't sure it would be wise to risk it."

Dahlia nodded slowly. "I thought it would be him too. But when I stood there, all I could think about was the train and the dementor..."

Remus tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "Interesting. You know, that suggests your greatest fear isn't a person, but fear itself. That's quite profound."

"I heard a scream," Dahlia murmured, her voice breaking slightly. "A woman screaming... I think it was my mum. The night they died."

Remus closed his eyes briefly, pain flickering across his face. "Dementors force us to relive our worst memories. Our pain becomes their sustenance."

Dahlia hesitated before asking, "Uncle Moony... why didn't you take me in? You were my parents' best friend. I've read Mum and Dad's journals—they trusted you more than anyone."

Remus's shoulders tensed, and he let out a slow breath. "Oh, Prongslet... it wasn't because I didn't want to. Believe me, I did. But I wasn't the best choice."

"Why not?" Dahlia pressed, her tone tinged with frustration. "Because of your furry little problem?"

Remus blinked, startled, before chuckling softly. "Ah. James and Lily's term for it. I suppose you read about that in their journals too?"

Dahlia nodded. "I recognized you on the train because of them."

Remus shook his head, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "Your father... always the dramatist. Let me guess—he wrote about your mother as though she were an angel descended from heaven, and she described him as an insufferable toerag?"

Dahlia laughed lightly. "Exactly."

"That sounds about right," Remus said, his voice tinged with affection. "But yes, my condition was part of the reason. Imagine the outcry if the wizarding world found out their savior was being raised by a werewolf."

Dahlia's brow furrowed. "I think living with a werewolf would've been better than living with the Dursleys."

Remus frowned deeply. "The Dursleys?"

"They're awful, Uncle Moony," Dahlia admitted, her voice cracking slightly. "But I survived. And for what it's worth, I think you'd have been a great guardian. You're brave, kind, and wise. People like you more than you think."

Remus's expression softened, his eyes glistening slightly. "You're so much like your mother, Dahlia. She had the same unwavering kindness. She could see the good in people even when they couldn't see it in themselves."

Dahlia smiled, touched by the words.

Remus stood, brushing off his robes. "I should head back now. There's still work to be done. Will you be alright here?"

Dahlia nodded. "Yeah, I'll stay a bit longer."

He leaned down and ruffled her hair gently. "Take care of yourself, Prongslet. And if you ever need anything, I'm here."

With that, he turned and headed back to the castle, leaving Dahlia alone in the quiet serenity of the Quidditch pitch.

Dahlia sat in the Quidditch stands, her chin resting on her knees, staring at the empty field below. The wind ruffled her hair as she debated taking her broom for a spin when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"What's our precious savior doing out here all alone?"

Dahlia turned sharply, startled. Theo Nott stood a few steps behind her, his hands casually stuffed in his pockets, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I should ask you the same thing, Theo," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

Theo shrugged, sauntering closer. "Forgot my permission slip at home. My dad's owling it to me tomorrow, so I'm stuck here today. What about you? Don't tell me the great Dahlia Potter couldn't get her form signed?"

"Lucky you," she said with a humorless laugh, ignoring his question. "At least you've got hope for next time. I'm not so lucky."

He sat down beside her, his curiosity piqued. "Why not? How hard could it be to get a signature?"

Dahlia hesitated before sighing. "My aunt and uncle hate magic. Hated my parents, too, come to think of it. After my parents died, they made it their life's mission to remind me that I didn't belong. I lived in a cupboard under the stairs until I got my Hogwarts letter. And last summer... well, you remember how we bumped into each other at Diagon Alley? I'd run away because I, uh, 'blew up' my uncle's sister."

Theo blinked, his smirk fading. "You... blew her up?"

"She didn't die," Dahlia clarified quickly. "Just, you know, ballooned like a giant marshmallow and floated off into the sky."

Theo stared at her for a moment before a laugh escaped him. "You're joking."

"I'm really not," Dahlia said, laughing despite herself. "But it wasn't exactly funny at the time. If I'd stayed, my uncle would've—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Anyway, I shouldn't be dumping this on you. It's my problem."

"No," Theo said, his voice quieter now, "it's fine. But... there had to be someone else. Anyone else. Why would they leave you with those awful Muggles?"

Dahlia gave him a tired smile. "They didn't have much choice. My godfather's an escaped convict, my godmother has her own struggles, and my supposed magical guardian? Well, they didn't even know they were my guardian until a few weeks ago. Meanwhile, my 'illegal' guardian refused to let anyone else take me."

Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Illegal guardian? You've got to be kidding me. Who?"

"Dumbledore," she said simply.

Theo's head snapped toward her. "Dumbledore? As in 'the leader of the light' Dumbledore?"

"That's the one."

Theo let out a low whistle. "And you're just... okay with that?"

Dahlia shrugged. "I didn't even know until recently. Found out through an inheritance test."

"You did one of those?" Theo asked, clearly intrigued. "What else did you find out?"

"Oh, you know, just that my life is even more of a mess than I thought," Dahlia said with a wry smile. "But let's not get into that. I've been ranting too much already."

Theo leaned back, studying her. "I'm starting to see why you've been off in your own little world lately."

Dahlia's lips quirked upward. "Anyway, Ron and Hermione should be back from Hogsmeade soon. We should head back."

Theo stood and extended a hand. "Come on, Cara. Let's go."

Dahlia rolled her eyes at the nickname but accepted his help. They began descending the stairs when Dahlia's foot slipped. She yelped, teetering forward, but Theo turned in time to catch her. The sudden momentum sent them both off balance, and Dahlia's lips brushed against Theo's as he steadied her.

They froze.

Wide-eyed, Dahlia pulled back quickly, her face flaming. "I-I'm so sorry! That was—"

Theo's ears turned pink, and he cleared his throat. "That was improper of me. I should—"

"It was an accident!" Dahlia interrupted. "You were just trying to help me."

Theo frowned, his expression serious. "Still, it's against etiquette. I'll court you properly. I'll send a gift of intent tomorrow—"

"Theo, no!" Dahlia said, waving her hands frantically. "You don't have to do that. It's not necessary!"

"It is," Theo insisted, his tone firm. "It's the proper thing to do."

Dahlia placed a hand on his arm, her voice softening. "Theo, listen to me. No one has to know. It was an accident. And it's my fault for being clumsy. You were just trying to catch me."

Theo hesitated, his gaze searching hers. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure," she said, smiling reassuringly. "Now, let's just go before I embarrass myself again."

Earlier...

"Looks like Potter couldn't go," Blaise commented as the Slytherins watched Dahlia walk back toward the castle.

Theo discreetly slipped her unsigned permission slip into his pocket, already heading after her.

"Where are you going?" Blaise called, grabbing Theo's arm.

"I've got something to do," Theo said evasively.

"Oh, come on," Blaise said with a smirk. "Admit it. You're off to play knight in shining armor for your favorite Gryffindor."

Draco frowned, crossing his arms. "But Theo, we were supposed to explore Hogsmeade together. What happened to our plans?"

"There's always next time, Dray," Theo said with a grin, ruffling Draco's perfectly styled hair as he walked away.

Draco swatted at him, huffing dramatically. "Fine. Go be with your precious Potter. Just don't forget who your real friends are."

"I love you, Dray!" Theo called over his shoulder, chuckling.

"Whatever, Theo!" Draco shouted, though a small smirk betrayed his amusement.

"Hopeless," Blaise muttered with a shake of his head. "Absolutely hopeless."

Present...

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Dahlia muttered, smacking her forehead lightly with the palm of her hand.

"Oi! Easy there, Lia!" Ron said, grabbing her wrist mid-swing. "We leave you alone for a few hours, and you're already trying to knock yourself out?"

"Ron, Hermione!" Dahlia exclaimed, throwing her arms around them in a tight hug.

"Alright, calm down," Hermione said, patting her back. "What's gotten into you?"

Dahlia pulled back, biting her lip. "I... I did something really stupid."

"Stupid how?" Hermione pressed, folding her arms. "What happened?"

"Accidentally-on-purpose stupid or just plain stupid?" Ron added with a grin.

"I—it was an accident!" Dahlia blurted. "I may or may not have, uh... accidentally kissed Theodore Nott."

"WHAT?!" Both of them shouted in unison, drawing the attention of several nearby students.

"Shh!" Dahlia hissed, waving her hands frantically. "Keep it down!"

"You what?" Hermione whispered harshly. "How does one accidentally kiss someone, Lia?"

"I tripped, okay?" Dahlia whispered back. "He caught me, and then—then it just happened! My lips brushed against his. It was nothing."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "So, is he gonna court you? That's what pureblood etiquette says, right?"

"No, I told him it wasn't necessary," Dahlia said quickly, her cheeks heating up. "He doesn't even like me like that."

"Oh, Lia," Hermione said with a knowing smile, shaking her head. "If only you could see the way he looks at you."

"He's just being nice," Dahlia muttered, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. "That's all."

"Yeah, sure," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Because normal nice blokes definitely go out of their way to hang out with you instead of their actual friends."

"Oh it's not like that, he said he forgot his permission form, and that his dad's going to owl it to him tomorrow. So, yeah, he's not coming with us to Hogsmeade today."

Ron raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Sure, he 'forgot' his form. And you expect me to believe that?"

"Whatever," Dahlia grumbled. "Let's just drop it, alright?"

Ron smirked but didn't press further. Instead, he handed her a small bag. "Here. We got you something."

The sight of the Honeydukes logo made Dahlia's eyes light up. "You did?" She tore into the bag, finding her favorite sweets inside. "You guys are the best!"

"We know," Hermione said smugly as Dahlia hugged them both, planting a quick kiss on their cheeks.

"Oi, don't make a habit of that," Ron said with mock indignation, rubbing his cheek. "Don't need Theo thinking he's got competition."

Dahlia groaned. "Ronald!"

Later...

The three of them made their way toward the Gryffindor common room, Hermione and Ron recounting their trip to Hogsmeade in vivid detail. Dahlia listened, happily munching on a chocolate frog, when they were stopped by a crowd of Gryffindors blocking the corridor.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked, standing on her toes to get a better view.

The commotion became clearer as they pushed forward: the Fat Lady's portrait was missing, and the frame had been viciously slashed.

"Where is she?" Ron asked, glancing around.

"She's gone!" Neville stammered. 

Moments later, Dumbledore arrived, his face grave. It didn't take long for the professors to locate the Fat Lady. She was huddled in another portrait, shaking with fright.

"It was him!" she cried, her voice trembling. "It was Sirius Black! He tried to get into Gryffindor Tower!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Dahlia's stomach twisted as she exchanged a worried glance with Hermione and Ron.

The entire house was ordered to sleep in the Great Hall under the watchful eye of the professors. That night, as most of the students drifted off, Dahlia lay awake on her cot, staring at the enchanted ceiling. She rolled over, and her heart skipped when she caught the tail end of a conversation between Snape and Dumbledore.

"She should be removed to a safer location," Snape was saying, his tone clipped. "It's irresponsible to keep her here, knowing what Black wants."

Dumbledore's voice was calm but firm. "She is safest at Hogwarts, Severus. The wards around the castle—"

"Wards that he clearly found a way to bypass!" Snape snapped. "She's a walking target. Surely you don't believe—"

"Enough, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice lowering. "This is not up for debate."

Dahlia's breath hitched. Are they talking about me? She pressed her face into her pillow, pretending to sleep as the conversation continued.

"You're making a mistake," Snape muttered before his footsteps retreated.

Dahlia's mind raced, the echoes of their words swirling in her head. Surely Padfoot wouldn't really want to kill, right? she wondered. But there was no one to answer, and the unease in her chest lingered long after the hall had fallen silent.

Chapter Text

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom buzzed with low chatter as students waited for their professor to arrive. Dahlia sat at a desk alone saving a seat for Hermione who was still not there, tapping her quill absentmindedly against her parchment. The room had a faint chill, a reminder of the overcast skies outside.

The door creaked open, and the chatter abruptly stopped. Instead of Professor Lupin's warm, familiar presence, the tall and imposing figure of Severus Snape swept into the room. His black robes billowed dramatically as he closed the door behind him with a soft click. Without saying a word, he flicked his wand, shutting the windows with a series of sharp bangs. The classroom darkened, save for the dim, flickering light from the torches lining the walls.

"What's Snape doing here?" Ron muttered under his breath. "Where's Lupin?"

Snape walked purposefully to the front of the classroom, his expression unreadable as he pulled down a white screen. The dull scrape of the projector echoed in the silent room as he placed it carefully on his desk. Then, his voice cut through the tension like a knife.

"Turn to page 394."

Dahlia raised her hand cautiously. "Excuse me, sir, but where's Professor Lupin?"

Snape's lip curled slightly, his tone dripping with disdain. "That is not your concern, is it, Potter?" He paced slowly to the back of the classroom, his footsteps echoing. "Suffice it to say that your professor finds himself... incapable of teaching at the present time." 

A faint hum filled the room as Snape flicked on a projector. The words "Werewolves: Identification and Precautions" were illuminated on the screen.

"Werewolves?" Ron mumbled nervously.

"But sir," Hermione began, her voice cutting through Ron's muttering, "we're supposed to be covering Red Caps and Hinkypunks. Werewolves aren't on the curriculum for weeks."

Snape shot Hermione a sharp glare. "Quiet," he snapped, his voice like a whip.

Dahlia frowned, leaning toward Ron. "When did Hermione even come in? Did you see her?"

Ron shook his head. "Nope. She's like a ghost sometimes."

Snape's cold voice interrupted them again. "Now, which one of you can tell me the difference between an Animagus and a werewolf?" He paused, scanning the room as if daring anyone to speak. The silence stretched awkwardly. "No one? How disappointing."

He began pacing again, his sharp gaze locking on Dahlia. "Potter," he barked. "I assume you would know the answer, given your... proximity to a certain professor."

Dahlia's brow furrowed. It was clear he was implying something about Lupin. She sat up straighter and responded evenly, "An Animagus is a wizard who chooses to transform into an animal at will. A werewolf doesn't have a choice. With every full moon, they lose their sense of self and could even kill their best friend. Furthermore, Werewolves only respond to the calls of their own kind."

Before Snape could respond, Malfoy let out a loud, mocking howl from the back of the class, causing his Slytherin cronies to burst into laughter. Dahlia clenched her fists, but Snape raised a hand, silencing them.

"Thank you for that, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said icily before turning back to Dahlia. "Potter, I believe I only asked for the difference, did I not? Five points from Gryffindor."

Dahlia scoffed under her breath, a familiar wave of frustration bubbling up. Of course, Snape would take any opportunity to dock points from Gryffindor.

"As an antidote to your ignorance," Snape continued, his tone patronizing, "I expect two rolls of parchment on recognizing werewolves, on my desk by Monday morning."

A collective groan rippled through the room.

"But sir, it's Quidditch tomorrow!" Dahlia protested.

Snape's lips curled into a thin smile. "Then I suggest you take extra care, Miss Potter. Loss of limb will not excuse you." He turned back to the screen, continuing with the lesson as Dahlia muttered, "Git," under her breath.

The next day, the Gryffindor Quidditch team prepared to face Hufflepuff in a match that could determine the house standings for the year. The weather was atrocious; rain lashed against the castle windows, and the pitch was a muddy mess. But not even a storm could deter Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor captain, who stood in the changing rooms delivering an impassioned pep talk.

"Rain or shine, we're playing to win!" he declared, his eyes blazing. "No distractions. No excuses."

Dahlia pulled on her gear, trying to ignore the nerves twisting in her stomach. As she strapped on her goggles, she exchanged a glance with Fred, who grinned. "Cheer up, Lia. You've never missed a Snitch, have you?"

"Yeah," George added. "And you've got better odds of catching it than Diggory does of keeping that pretty hair in place."

Dahlia laughed, feeling some of the tension ease. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

The match began with a deafening roar from the crowd, but the storm quickly turned the game into chaos. Rain pelted the players, reducing visibility to almost nothing. Bludgers flew wildly, and several players were struck by lightning, tumbling from their brooms. Still, Dahlia's focus remained on the Snitch.

She spotted it near the Gryffindor goalposts and shot after it, her broom slicing through the rain. Cedric Diggory was close behind, his yellow Hufflepuff robes a blur in the storm. The Snitch darted and weaved, its golden wings shimmering despite the gray skies. Dahlia leaned forward, urging her broom faster.

Then, without warning, a bone-chilling cold swept over her. It wasn't just the rain—this was different. Her goggles fogged over, and frost began to creep along the handle of her broom. She glanced down and froze.

Dementors. Dozens of them hovered near the pitch, their tattered cloaks billowing as they closed in.

Panic surged through her. Her grip on the broom faltered as the icy cold seemed to seep into her very bones. And then, the voices came.

"Not Lia, not Lia, please not Dahlia!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now..."
"Take me, kill me instead—just don't hurt her!"

Dahlia's vision blurred as memories she didn't even know she had replayed in her mind. She was falling now, spiraling through the mist, and the last thing she heard before the darkness took her was a shrill laugh and a woman's desperate screams.

When Dahlia woke, her head throbbed, and the world came into focus slowly. Voices buzzed around her.

"She looks a bit peaky, doesn't she?"
"Peaky? What do you expect? She fell over 100 feet."
"Let's push you off a tower and see how you look!"
"Probably a right sight better than he normally does."

Dahlia groaned, blinking her eyes open. Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Neville, and a few teammates hovered over her, their faces a mix of relief and concern.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked, her voice shaky. Her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying.

"Oh, brilliant," Dahlia said dryly.

"You gave us a right good scare there, Lia," Fred said, taking a seat beside her bed.

"What happened?" Dahlia asked, rubbing her temple.

"You fell off your broom," Ron said.

"No kidding. I meant the match. Who won?"

"Really, Lia? That's your first question after falling 100 feet?" George teased. "You're turning into Wood."

"Just tell me," Dahlia pressed, sitting up straighter.

The group exchanged hesitant glances. Finally, Neville spoke. "Dementors aren't supposed to be on the grounds. Dumbledore was furious—he drove them off and saved you himself."

"And the game?" Dahlia asked, though a sinking feeling told her she already knew.

Alicia hesitated. "Diggory caught the Snitch right after you fell. He didn't realize what was happening. When he found out, he tried to get a rematch, but... Hufflepuff won fair and square. Even Wood admitted it."

Dahlia sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Where is Wood now?"

"Still in the showers," George said.
"Probably trying to drown himself," Fred added with a smirk.

Despite their attempts to lighten the mood, Dahlia covered her face with her hands. "I let everyone down."

"Lia, hey," Neville said gently, placing a hand on her arm. "You've never missed a Snitch before. You're bound to slip up eventually."

"Yeah," Ron added. "Besides, dementors! No one expects you to fight those and win the match."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "You'll get them next time."

Dahlia looked up at her friends, their faces full of encouragement, and managed a small smile. Just as she opened her mouth to thank them, Madam Pomfrey bustled over, her face stern.

"That's enough let Miss Potter have some peace! Out, all of you!" she commanded, ushering the group away. The Gryffindor Quidditch team left reluctantly, leaving a trail of muddy footprints in their wake. Neville lingered for a moment, offering her a kind smile before following the others.

Once the room was quiet, Dahlia sighed and leaned back against the pillows. 

Ron and Hermione approached her bed cautiously, looking a little nervous. Dahlia frowned. "What is it?"

"Er..." Ron scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze.

"Did someone get my Nimbus?" Dahlia asked, sitting up a little straighter. The broom had been her pride and joy.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a guilty look.

"Er—" Ron began, but Hermione cut him off.

"Well... when you fell off, it got blown away," Hermione said hesitantly.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And it hit—it hit—the Whomping Willow," Hermione admitted, cringing as she spoke.

Dahlia's stomach dropped. The Whomping Willow. That tree was infamous for its violent temper and destructive tendencies. "And?" she repeated, dreading the answer.

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Well... you know how the Willow is. It... it doesn't exactly like being hit."

"Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came around," Hermione added in a small voice, bending down to grab something at her feet. She hesitated, then placed a bag on the bed. Slowly, she tipped it over, and a dozen pieces of splintered wood and twigs spilled onto the blanket.

Dahlia stared at the broken remains of her Nimbus, her chest tightening. She picked up one of the larger fragments, her fingers trembling slightly. To most, it was just a broom. But to her, it was so much more—it was the first real gift she had ever received, a symbol of freedom and joy. She had refused to replace it, even as newer and faster models were released.

Ron shifted awkwardly. "Lia, I'm really sorry. It's—"

"It's fine," Dahlia interrupted, her voice tight. "I'll... I'll figure something out." She set the broken piece down carefully, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Later that day, Dahlia wandered the corridors of Hogwarts, trying to shake off the heavy feeling in her chest. The castle felt colder than usual, the shadows in the corners stretching longer as evening approached. She wasn't entirely sure where she was going, but walking seemed better than sitting in the hospital wing, wallowing over her shattered broom.

"Potter!" a familiar voice called.

She turned to see Cedric Diggory jogging toward her, his Hufflepuff robes slightly damp from the earlier match. His face was open and apologetic.

"Well met, Heiress Potter," Cedric said, inclining his head respectfully. "I just wanted to say... I'm really sorry about what happened during the match. I tried to get a rematch, but they wouldn't allow it—"

"Heir Diggory, well met," Dahlia replied, her tone formal before softening. "It's fine, really. You guys won fair and square."

Cedric frowned. "Still—"

"Cedric," Dahlia interrupted with a faint smile, "it's fine. There's always next time. My life doesn't revolve around Quidditch—though I can't say the same for Oliver Wood."

Cedric chuckled at that, his expression relaxing. "So... is that all right with you then?"

"Yes, it is."

"Good," Cedric said, though he still looked a little guilty. "For what it's worth, you're a brilliant Seeker. I don't think anyone else could've kept up like that, especially in this weather."

Dahlia felt her cheeks warm slightly at the compliment but quickly pushed it aside. "Thank you, Cedric. But don't beat yourself up over it—it wasn't your fault. Blame the dementors."

Cedric nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "All right, Dahlia. I'll see you around."

As Cedric turned to leave, a voice drawled from the shadows.

"I see you're getting cozy with pretty-boy Diggory."

Dahlia spun around to find Theodore Nott leaning casually against the wall. His usual teasing smirk was absent, replaced by a cold, stoic expression.

"He just wanted to apologize about the match," Dahlia said, narrowing her eyes.

"Sure he did," Theo replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He rolled his eyes and pushed off the wall.

Dahlia raised her eyebrows at him. Was that... jealousy in his voice? "What do you want, Theo?"

"How are you?" Theo asked, his tone softening slightly. "You've been avoiding me these past few days."

"I have not," Dahlia lied, her cheeks flushing.

Theo arched an eyebrow. "Yes, you have. But I'm not here to argue. I just... wanted to check on you. Especially after what happened earlier."

Dahlia's heart softened at his words, though she tried to keep her expression neutral. "I'm fine. I can't say the same for my Nimbus."

Theo frowned. "What happened to it?"

"Well," Dahlia began, folding her arms, "it got blown into the Whomping Willow, and you know how that tree is..."

"It broke your broom," Theo finished, his voice flat.

Dahlia nodded. "Yeah."

Theo was silent for a moment before saying, "Are you heading back to your common room now?"

"Yes," Dahlia replied, though part of her wanted to stay and talk with him a little longer.

"I'll walk you there," Theo offered.

Dahlia hesitated. She wanted to refuse, but deep down, she missed moments like this with Theo. Finally, she nodded. "All right."

The walk to the Gryffindor common room was quiet, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. Dahlia stole a glance at Theo, who seemed lost in thought.

When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Dahlia turned to him. "Thank you for walking me."

Before she could step inside, Theo gently took her hand and pressed a kiss to both of her knuckles.

"Please don't avoid me again, cara," Theo said softly, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability.

Dahlia's breath hitched, her cheeks burning as she nodded. "Okay..." she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

As she stepped through the portrait hole, her heart raced. The moment replayed in her mind, and she couldn't help but smile. She needed to find Hermione. This was something she had to talk about.

Dahlia found Hermione in their dorm, comfortably perched on her bed with her nose buried in the book she had borrowed from Dahlia earlier that day. The firelight cast a warm glow on the room, but Dahlia barely noticed, her excitement bubbling over.

"Mione! Mione!" Dahlia said frantically as she burst into the room.

Hermione looked up, startled. "Lia? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in the infirmary!"

"Yes, but it was boring there," Dahlia said quickly, waving her hand dismissively. "I told Madam Pomfrey that if I didn't come back, I'd be here, and she said it was fine. Besides, I have to tell you something!"

Hermione set the book aside, intrigued. "What is it?"

Dahlia plopped down on Hermione's bed, her face glowing with excitement and nerves. "I think you're right..."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Lia, I'm right about a lot of things. You're going to have to be more specific."

Dahlia bit her lip, her cheeks turning pink. "I think maybe... Theodore Nott does like me."

Hermione's expression lit up, a knowing smirk forming on her lips. "Well, of course he does! I mean, look at you. You're a very pretty girl, smart, and not to mention he always walks you back to the common room. Oh, and you do know he rejected Daphne Greengrass, don't you?"

"What?!" Dahlia's eyes widened.

"Yesterday," Hermione said matter-of-factly, as if it were common knowledge. "She asked him to walk with her, and—oh, this is in your etiquette book—you know what that means, right? When a witch or wizard asks to accompany someone on a walk, it's a formal way of saying they want to get to know them better, maybe even romantically."

"Oh..." Dahlia blinked, processing the information.

"You didn't read that part yet, did you?" Hermione asked knowingly.

Dahlia sheepishly shook her head.

Hermione huffed, though her tone remained amused. "Exactly what Ron and I have been saying—you never finish those books properly! Anyway, when Heiress Greengrass asked to walk with him, he refused. That's basically a rejection. But back to the important part—what made you suddenly realize Theo likes you?"

"Well..." Dahlia began, fiddling with the edge of her robe. "He walked me back to the common room earlier. But before that, he saw me talking to Diggory, and he—well, I think he was jealous. His tone was... different. And then, when we got here, he kissed my hands."

Hermione's eyes widened as she sat up straighter. "Wait—both hands?"

Dahlia nodded.

Hermione gasped, practically bouncing in excitement. "Oh, my Merlin, Lia! Do you know what that means?"

Dahlia tilted her head, unsure where this was going.

"In wizarding customs, if a wizard kisses a witch's one hand, it means respect or friendship," Hermione explained quickly. "But if he kisses both hands, it means he's interested in courting you. He wants a romantic relationship with you!"

"What?!" Dahlia's face turned crimson as the realization sank in.

"Yes! He's declaring his interest, Lia! Oh, this is so exciting!" Hermione squealed, clapping her hands together.

"Keep your voice down!" Dahlia hissed, glancing nervously at the dormitory door.

"We have to tell Ron!" Hermione said, her voice still filled with excitement.

"Tomorrow," Dahlia said, stifling a yawn. "I just want to sleep for now. It's been a long day."

Just then, their roommates Parvati and Lavender entered the room, their faces puzzled as they took in Hermione's bright expression and Dahlia's flustered one.

"Why were you guys squealing?" Parvati asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing," Dahlia said quickly, sliding under her blanket and turning to face the wall.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from giggling, but the mischievous glint in her eyes didn't fade. Dahlia buried her face in her pillow, her mind swirling with thoughts of Theo.

Chapter Text

Dahlia and Remus Lupin strolled along the Black Lake. The scene's peacefulness was a sharp contrast to Dahlia’s turbulent emotions.

"I'm sorry to hear about your broom, Prongslet," Remus said gently, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Is there no chance of fixing it?"

"No," Dahlia replied, her voice heavy with sadness. "It was pretty beaten up. It wasn’t just a broom to me, though. It was my first real gift."

Remus paused, looking at her with a soft expression. "I understand. It’s always hard to lose something tied to memories."

"Uncle Moony," Dahlia began hesitantly, her voice dropping to a whisper, "why do the Dementors affect me so much? More than everyone else?"

Remus stopped walking and turned to face her. "Listen to me, Dahlia. Dementors are the foulest creatures to walk this earth. They feed on every good feeling, every happy memory until you’re left with nothing but your worst experiences. It’s not a sign of weakness that they affect you so strongly." He hesitated before continuing, "It’s because you’ve endured more than most. Horrors your classmates couldn’t even imagine."

Dahlia’s eyes filled with tears. "I’m scared, Uncle Moony."

"I’d consider you a fool if you weren’t," he said softly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I need to know how to fight them," she said with sudden determination. "You made the one on the train go away. You can teach me."

Remus smiled faintly. "I don’t claim to be an expert, Lia, but perhaps after the holidays, we can start. The Dementors seem to have taken an unsettling interest in you."

Dahlia nodded, comforted by the promise.

Later, Dahlia found herself alone in the Gryffindor dormitory, watching snow fall outside as students departed for the Hogsmeade trip. She sighed, an idea forming in her head. Digging through her trunk, she retrieved her father’s invisibility cloak, determined to sneak into Hogsmeade.

But her plan was foiled when Fred and George Weasley intercepted her in the corridor.

"Really clever, Lia," Fred said, smirking.

"But not clever enough," George added, pointing at the cloak.

Dahlia groaned. "How’d you know?"

Fred gestured to the snow on the ground. "Invisible doesn’t mean weightless. Footprints, Lia."

"What are you even doing?" George asked.

"Trying to get to Hogsmeade," Dahlia admitted.

Fred and George exchanged grins. "Lucky for you," Fred said, "we’re here to help."

George pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "This is the key to our success," he said dramatically.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "What’s this?"

Fred chuckled. "Behold: the Marauder’s Map."

As George tapped it with his wand, he intoned, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Dahlia’s jaw dropped as ink spread across the parchment, revealing a detailed map of Hogwarts. Tiny labeled dots moved along the corridors.

"Fucking hell," Dahlia muttered, staring in awe.

"Watch your language, Heiress Potter," Fred teased.

"You’ve had this the whole time?" she asked incredulously.

Fred and George exchanged mischievous grins. "We’re resourceful," Fred said.

George pointed at the map. "See that passage? Leads straight to Honeydukes’ cellar."

As they explained how to use the map, Dahlia’s shock grew. "Wait," she interrupted. "How do you even have this?"

"We nicked it from Filch’s office in our first year," Fred said proudly.

"Do you know who made it?" she asked, smirking.

"Not a clue," George admitted.

Dahlia laughed. "Let’s just say I have insider knowledge."

Fred and George stared at her. "You know who made it?" Fred asked, wide-eyed.

"One of them was my dad," she said, grinning at their stunned faces.

"No way," George breathed.

"Bloody hell," Fred said, dropping to his knees. "We’re not worthy!"

"Great Marauder Heiress," George added, bowing dramatically.

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "Stop it, you two."

"But wait," Fred said, looking at her curiously.

 "Do you know the others? Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot?" George asked eagerly.

 Dahlia smirked. "Maybe. But a Marauder’s secrets aren’t for sharing."

Fred groaned. "You’re killing us here, Lia."

"Sorry, boys," Dahlia said, tucking the map under her cloak. "Thanks for the shortcut. See you at Honeydukes."

Before they could respond, she disappeared under the invisibility cloak and headed toward the passage.

"She’s going to be unstoppable now," Fred said, shaking his head.

"And to think we just handed her the keys to Hogwarts," George added with a grin.

"Best decision we ever made," Fred said, laughing.

Dahlia traced the passage to Honeydukes with her finger on the Marauder’s Map, her heart pounding with excitement. Without hesitation, she rolled up the map, tucked it into her robes, and hurried toward the classroom door. Carefully, she eased it open a few inches and peeked out into the corridor. It was empty.

Quickly and quietly, she slipped out and darted behind the statue of the one-eyed witch. Pulling the map out again, she was startled to see a new ink figure labeled Dahlia Potter appear on it, standing exactly where she was.

The tiny figure on the map raised its wand and tapped the witch’s statue. Curious, Dahlia mimicked the action with her real wand, but nothing happened. Frowning, she looked back at the map, where a tiny speech bubble had appeared, displaying a single word: Dissendium.

"Dissendium!" she whispered, tapping the statue again.

This time, the hump of the witch’s statue shifted and opened, revealing a hidden passageway just big enough for her to fit through. Dahlia glanced around the corridor one last time before hoisting herself into the hole headfirst. She slid down a smooth, stone slide, landing with a soft thud on cold, damp earth.

"Lumos," she muttered, and her wand illuminated a narrow, earthy tunnel stretching ahead of her. The air smelled faintly of dirt and moss. She tapped the map with her wand and whispered, "Mischief managed." The ink faded instantly, leaving the parchment blank. Folding it neatly, she tucked it into her robes and began her journey.

The passage twisted and turned like the burrow of a massive creature. The ground was uneven, and Dahlia stumbled occasionally, holding her wand out to light the way. The promise of Honeydukes kept her going, and though it felt like hours, she didn’t slow down.

As the path began to slope upward, her heart leapt. She picked up her pace, despite her feet aching from the cold. After climbing a seemingly endless flight of stone steps, her head abruptly collided with something hard.

"Ow," she muttered, rubbing her forehead. She looked up to find a trapdoor above her. Pressing her ear to it, she listened carefully. Hearing nothing, she slowly pushed it open and peeked inside.

She emerged into a dimly lit cellar, filled with crates and boxes stacked haphazardly. She closed the trapdoor behind her, ensuring it blended perfectly with the dusty floor, and crept toward the wooden staircase. The soft jingle of a bell and the murmur of voices drifted down from above.

Suddenly, a door nearby creaked open.

"And grab another box of Jelly Slugs, dear—we’re almost out!" called a woman’s voice.

Dahlia froze as a pair of feet descended the stairs. Thinking fast, she ducked behind an enormous crate, holding her breath as the man rummaged through the boxes.

Now or never, she thought.

As silently as possible, she darted out from her hiding spot and climbed the stairs. She glanced back to see the man still searching, his shiny bald head and large frame buried in a crate. Reaching the top of the stairs, she slipped through the door and found herself behind the counter at Honeydukes.

Crouching low, she crept along the counter until she was safely among the crowd of Hogwarts students. Straightening up, she looked around, her eyes widening at the sight before her.

Rows upon rows of sweets lined the shelves: creamy chunks of nougat, shimmering squares of coconut ice, and barrels filled with Fizzing Whizbees and Every Flavor Beans. Exploding bonbons, sugar-spun quills, and Ice Mice gleamed enticingly under the shop’s lights.

This is paradise, she thought, her eyes practically glowing.

Dahlia pushed through a group of sixth years and spotted a sign in the far corner that read UNUSUAL TASTES. Beneath it, Ron and Hermione were examining a tray of blood-flavored lollipops.

"Ugh, no," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. "Lia won’t want one of those—they’re for vampires, I expect."

"How about these?" Ron asked, holding up a jar of Cockroach Clusters.

"Definitely not," Dahlia said, taking off her invisibility cloak from behind them.

Ron jumped, nearly dropping the jar.

"Lia!" Hermione squealed. "What are you doing here? How—how did you—?"

"Wow!" Ron said, looking awestruck. "You’ve learned to Apparate!"

"Of course I haven’t," Dahlia replied, lowering her voice. She quickly explained about the Marauder’s Map.

"Fred and George gave you that?" Ron said, outraged. "They’ve had it all this time and never told me?"

"But you’re not going to keep it," Hermione said firmly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You’re going to hand it in to Professor McGonagall, aren’t you, Lia?"

"Of course I’m not," Dahlia said, crossing her arms.

"Why not?" Hermione demanded.

"Because my father and his friends made it," Dahlia said, smirking as their jaws dropped.

"Wait—your dad?" Ron asked, stunned.

"Yes. My dad is Prongs," Dahlia said matter-of-factly.

Hermione looked torn between fascination and disapproval. "But... but Sirius Black could use the passages on that map!"

"Sirius won’t hurt me," Dahlia said confidently.

"You can’t be sure of that," Hermione argued.

"I know," Dahlia admitted. "But I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, if he did, it would break our bond, and breaking a magical bond damages your core. It’s not worth the risk for him."

Hermione frowned but didn’t argue further.

"Come on, Mione," Dahlia said, grinning. "Let’s just enjoy this, okay? I mean, I managed to sneak in here!"

Hermione sighed. "Fine. I still can’t believe you managed it."

"Seen the Fizzing Whizbees, Lia?" Ron asked, leading her toward the barrel. "And the Jelly Slugs? Fred gave me an Acid Pop when I was seven—it burnt a hole right through my tongue! Mum nearly killed him."

Ron stared thoughtfully at the Cockroach Clusters. "Reckon Fred’d eat one if I told him it was a peanut?"

"Fred’s way too clever for that," Dahlia teased. "You’re a prank amateur compared to him."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Ron said sarcastically.

"I love you too, Ron," Dahlia said with a laugh.

As the conversation above them unfolded, Dahlia’s initial panic melted into a stunned, paralyzing silence. Every word etched itself into her mind, like shards of ice piercing through the haze of disbelief. Sirius Black—a name she had only ever heard spoken fondly by her parents in old stories—was now painted as the villain who had betrayed them. Each revelation from the group at the bar added another weight to her chest, and by the time Hagrid’s booming voice thundered, “I comforted the murdering traitor!” Dahlia’s hands were trembling uncontrollably. She barely registered Ron nudging her ankle in alarm when her tankard slipped from her grasp, clinking dully against the table leg.

“Lia, be careful,” Ron hissed under his breath, glancing nervously toward the professors’ table.

But Dahlia didn’t respond. Her hands trembled slightly as they clenched tightly in her lap, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts, memories, and doubts. The name Sirius Black rang like a death knell in her ears, but the image it conjured wasn’t of a traitor. He’d been her father’s best friend, practically family. The man they were accusing couldn’t possibly be the one responsible for the betrayal that had shattered her world.

Her father’s journal flashed vividly in her memory, as though the parchment were laid out before her eyes.

To my little Lia, my Prongslet,

If you’re reading this, it means You-Know-Who found us, and Lily and I are most likely gone. But don’t lose hope. We had a plan—one we trusted. We switched Secret Keepers. Sirius agreed to act as the decoy while someone else became the real Keeper. Brilliant, right? I can’t write their name here—who knows what could happen if this journal falls into the wrong hands after we drop it off in our vault at Gringotts.

If we were discovered, it means that person betrayed us… but I can’t believe he’d do that. We’ve been through so much together. Unless—unless he was forced to, which I’d understand, but it’s hard to imagine.

Whatever happens, I need you to know how much your mum and I love you. You are never truly alone, Lia. We’ll always be with you, even if you can’t see us. We’ll live in your heart. And I know Wormtail, Padfoot, Moony, Alice, Frank, and Auggie will take good care of you.

Love always,
Dad

The words hit her anew, sending a chill down her spine. Who betrayed them? The question felt like a drumbeat in her head, loud and insistent. But one thing was clear to her now: Sirius hadn’t been the one.

“Lia?” Hermione’s voice broke through the fog of her thoughts. Her whisper was soft but tinged with concern, her wide eyes fixed on Dahlia. “Are you… okay?”

Ron crouched closer, worry etched into his freckled face. “You’re shaking,” he muttered, glancing nervously around to make sure no one was watching. “What’s going on? You know something, don’t you?”

Dahlia blinked rapidly, her gaze snapping into focus. The faces of her friends swam into view, blurred by the unshed tears pooling in her eyes. She drew a shaky breath and forced herself to speak.

“I…” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard before trying again. “I don’t think Sirius was the one who betrayed my parents.”

“What?” Hermione’s voice was sharper this time, and Ron winced, waving his arms in a frantic motion for her to lower it. Hermione glanced toward the bar, then leaned in, her whisper urgent. “How can you say that? You heard them just now—everything they said—”

“They don’t know everything,” Dahlia interrupted, her voice trembling but resolute. “My dad… he wrote about it. In his journal. He said Sirius wasn’t the real Secret Keeper.”

Ron’s brow furrowed, his confusion evident. “Wait—you’re saying he wasn’t the one? But they just said—”

“I know what they said!” Dahlia snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. Both Hermione and Ron flinched at her sudden outburst, and she immediately softened, guilt flashing across her face. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “It’s just… my dad trusted Sirius completely. He wouldn’t have made him the Keeper. They must’ve switched—given the role to someone else to keep them safer. My dad thought it was a brilliant idea.”

Hermione frowned, her expression thoughtful but troubled. “But if that’s true… who was the real Keeper? And why would Sirius—why would everyone think he was the traitor?”

Dahlia’s shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of it all pressing down on her. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “But I have to find out.”

Ron glanced uneasily at the bar, where Madam Rosmerta was now wiping down glasses while the teachers’ conversation drifted into quieter tones. “That’s all well and good, Lia, but if you’re right, then someone’s been lying about this for years. And they’ve done a bloody good job of making Sirius out to be the villain.”

Hermione’s gaze was steely as she nodded. “If what you’re saying is true, then Sirius Black isn’t just an escaped convict—he’s innocent.”

“But you heard them, Hermione!” Ron shot back, his voice low but fierce. “Sirius Black blew Pettigrew to pieces. The only thing they found was his finger! He’s not exactly innocent, is he?”

Dahlia’s heart clenched painfully at Ron’s words. “If Sirius did that…” she murmured, her tone heavy with doubt and sorrow. “Then maybe it wasn’t out of guilt. Maybe it was out of rage. Because if Peter betrayed them—” She broke off, shaking her head. “It doesn’t add up. None of it does. I have to find the truth.”

Hermione placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Then we’ll help you,” she said firmly, her eyes glinting with determination.

Ron groaned. “Bloody hell, this sounds like a terrible idea already,” he muttered. But when Dahlia looked at him, her expression raw with emotion, he sighed. “Fine. But if we end up in Azkaban for this, I’m blaming the both of you.”

It was Christmas—or Yule, as some wizards and witches called it.

“Another sweater from Mum… maroon again,” Ron said, holding it up. “See if you’ve got one.”

The trio sat by the Christmas tree, opening gifts. Dahlia had received pins and headbands from Auggie and Neville, and a red sweater with the Gryffindor lion knitted on the front from Mrs. Weasley. She also got a dozen home-baked mince pies, Christmas cake, and a box of nut brittle. Despite the small bitterness Dahlia felt because of Mrs. Weasley’s past betrayal, she smiled at the thoughtful gifts. From Hermione, she got a pile of fiction books, and from the Grangers, some lovely dresses.

“Oh my… these dresses are beautiful! They must be expensive. Your parents didn’t have to do this—I can pay them back,” Dahlia said, amazed by the gifts from Hermione’s parents.

“Oh, hush, Lia,” Hermione replied, smiling. “They wouldn’t want your money. Besides, they’ve got plenty. They see you as family, especially after everything that happened last year.”

It was true. After Ron and the twins rescued Dahlia from the Dursleys the summer before their second year, the Grangers treated her like one of their own. They let her stay with them before school started since she needed Hermione's company after what happened to her in the house of her relatives, giving her the care she’d never known.

“I’ll send them a letter later,” Dahlia said with a smile.

“They’d love that,” Hermione said.

“Uh, Lia, I know it’s not much, but here’s my gift for you,” Ron said, handing her a wrapped present. Dahlia opened it and found a teddy bear dressed in a Weasley sweater with her initials on it.

“Ron, this is…” Dahlia’s voice broke, and her eyes filled with tears. She had never had a teddy bear before. She hugged him tightly. “Thank you.”

Ron smiled, looking a little shy. “I got this for the both you with the money Bill gave me and Mum knitted a sweater for both of your teddy bears,” he said. “Thought it would be nice.”

"Oh Ron," Hermione and dahlia said touched by his gesture

“Okay, my turn,” Dahlia said, reaching for the presents she had gotten for her friends. She handed them to Ron and Hermione, and they gasped in surprise.

“Merlin, Lia, these gifts cost more than ours!” Ron said, holding up a wizard chess set and a lot of Chudley Cannons merchandise.

“When did you get all this?” Hermione asked, amazed by the rare book on advanced spells and the accessories for Crookshanks, plus a customized wand holster with her initials. She looked at Ron, who had the same holster. “You got one too?”

“When I stayed at the Leaky Cauldron,” Dahlia said with a grin. “I had time to shop.”

“And it was in your trunk this whole time?” Ron asked. Dahlia nodded, and just then, Hermione noticed a gift that was still unopened.

“Who’s gift is that?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know,” Dahlia said, standing up to pick it up. She saw her name on the tag. “It’s for me.”

She opened it slowly and read the note:

I’m sorry about your Nimbus Prongslet, but I’ve got you a better one. Stay safe.
— Paddy

A smile spread across Dahlia’s face. She knew exactly who it was from.

“It’s from Sirius,” she said, her heart lifting. The others were shocked.

“Are you sure you want to open it?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, it’s fine,” Dahlia said. “I’ll take it to Uncle Moony later to check for jinxes once he arrives—he told me he won’t be here until later or maybe tomorrow.”

Hermione nodded, understanding, and the three of them sat back, enjoying the warmth and magic of Yule together.

Chapter Text

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with life as students returned after New Year, their chatter and laughter filling the previously quiet tower. Dahlia felt a sense of relief at the bustling atmosphere, the warmth of friends and housemates replacing the solitude of the holidays.

Late that evening, Oliver Wood approached her, weaving through clusters of students. His determined stride made it clear he had something important on his mind.

"Had a good Christmas?" he asked, sitting down beside her without waiting for an answer. His voice dropped as he leaned in. "I've been doing some thinking over Christmas, Dahlia. After the last match, you know... If the dementors show up again..."

He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, before finishing, "We can't afford for you to—well—freeze up again."

Dahlia flushed slightly but cut him off before he could dig the hole deeper. "I'm working on it," she said firmly. "Professor Lupin's going to teach me how to ward off dementors. We're starting this week—he promised after Christmas he'd have time."

Wood's face immediately cleared, a broad grin spreading across it. "Ah, that's brilliant news! I really didn't want to lose you as Seeker, Dahlia. You're one of the best we've had."

"Thanks, Wood," Dahlia muttered, though she couldn't help but smile a little at his unshakable enthusiasm.

"Speaking of which," he continued, his tone shifting into Captain mode, "have you sorted out a new broom yet?"

"No," Dahlia admitted. "I already have a broom, but it's with my uncle for now."

Wood's brow furrowed in thought, then he nodded sharply. "Well, tell your uncle to send it over as soon as possible. I want you back in peak form. Training starts immediately—we're taking that House Cup back this year!"

Dahlia rolled her eyes, a small chuckle escaping her lips. "Sure thing, Captain. I'll let him know."

The following day, Dahlia eagerly anticipated Defense Against the Dark Arts. After her conversation with Wood, she was more motivated than ever to begin her anti-dementor training. As class ended, she approached Professor Lupin, catching his attention before he could leave.

"Ah, yes," Lupin said with a thoughtful smile when she reminded him of his promise. "Let me see... How about eight o'clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough. I'll need to think carefully about how we'll proceed... of course, we can't bring a real dementor into the castle."

Dahlia nodded, excitement bubbling up despite his cautious tone.

As she walked to dinner with Ron and Hermione, Ron glanced back toward the Defense classroom, frowning. "Still looks ill, doesn't he?" he said. "What d'you reckon's the matter with him?"

Dahlia's stomach twisted uncomfortably, knowing the truth but unsure how to respond. "Maybe he's just prone to catching colds," she said quickly.

"Maybe..." Ron muttered, though he didn't sound convinced.

Hermione, however, narrowed her eyes at Dahlia, her expression sharp. "You know, don't you?" she whispered, falling back a step so they wouldn't be overheard.

"Know what?" Dahlia asked, her voice a little too high-pitched as nerves crept in.

Hermione stopped abruptly in the corridor, forcing Dahlia to pause as well. She leaned in, lowering her voice to barely above a whisper. "Don't play dumb, Lia. I know you know Professor Lupin is a werewolf."

Dahlia's face paled, her heart racing. She glanced around, making sure no one was within earshot. "Yes," she admitted in a hushed tone. "But you can't tell anyone, Hermione. Please. Snape's already out for Uncle Moony—he'd use it against him in a heartbeat. If the whole school finds out..." Her voice broke slightly. "He'll lose his job."

Hermione's stern expression softened immediately. She placed a hand on Dahlia's arm, her voice gentle but firm. "Of course, I won't tell. It's not my secret to share, and I wouldn't want him to lose his position. He's the best Defense professor we've ever had."

Dahlia gave her a grateful smile, relief washing over her. "Thanks, Hermione. It means a lot."

Hermione nodded, her tone warm as they started walking again. "He's lucky to have someone like you looking out for him, Lia."

Ron, who had been waiting a few paces ahead, called back to them impatiently. "Oi, are you two going to stand there whispering all night, or are we eating?"

Dahlia let out a laugh, shaking off her tension. "Coming, Ron. Don't worry, there'll still be plenty left for you!"

At eight o'clock on Thursday evening, Dahlia left Gryffindor Tower and made her way to the History of Magic classroom. The corridors were eerily quiet, and the cold seemed to seep through the castle walls. When she arrived, the room was empty, its usual ghostly occupants absent. With a flick of her wand, Dahlia lit the lamps, casting warm light into the gloom. She had barely waited five minutes when the door creaked open, and Professor Lupin entered, carrying a large, battered packing case that he heaved onto Professor Binns' desk with a grunt.

"What's in there?" Dahlia asked, stepping closer.

"Another boggart," Lupin replied, shedding his cloak and rolling up his sleeves. "I've been combing the castle since Tuesday and, very luckily, found this one lurking in Mr. Filch's filing cabinet. It's as close as we can get to a real dementor. When it sees you, it will take the form of a dementor, so we'll be able to practice on it."

Dahlia raised her eyebrows. "Filch had a boggart? That's... weirdly fitting."

Lupin chuckled. "He didn't seem pleased when I took it, but I'm sure he's happier without it in his cabinet. For now, I'll keep it in a cupboard in my office. Bogarts enjoy enclosed spaces."

Dahlia nodded, gripping her wand tightly. "So... what do we do?"

Lupin drew his own wand, his face serious. "The spell I'm about to teach you is highly advanced magic, Dahlia—well beyond O.W.L. level. It's called the Patronus Charm."

Dahlia swallowed nervously. "How does it work?"

"When performed correctly, it conjures a Patronus," Lupin explained. "A guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor. It's a projection of positive force—hope, happiness, the will to survive—but it cannot feel despair as we do. That's why the dementors can't hurt it."

Dahlia imagined a towering figure, wielding a large club, standing between her and the dementor. "What does a Patronus look like?" she asked.

"Each one is unique to the witch or wizard who conjures it," Lupin replied. "It often takes the form of an animal that holds special meaning for its caster."

"And how do I conjure one?"

"With an incantation: Expecto Patronum." Lupin's tone was calm, but his expression was serious. "But there's a catch—it only works if you focus with all your might on a single, very happy memory."

Dahlia furrowed her brow, trying to summon a memory strong enough. Her time with the Dursleys was a no-go, so she finally settled on her first broomstick flight—the exhilarating feeling of soaring through the air, the wind whipping past her face.

"Okay," she said, nodding.

"Good," Lupin said. "Now, focus. Remember that feeling as vividly as you can. The incantation is Expecto Patronum."

"Expecto Patronum," Dahlia repeated, testing the words under her breath.

Lupin stepped back, gesturing for her to take the center of the room. "Give it a try."

Dahlia raised her wand, her mind full of the memory of flying. "Expecto Patronum!"

A faint wisp of silvery gas emerged from her wand and quickly dissipated.

"Did you see that?" she said, excitement bubbling up. "Something happened!"

"Very good for a first try," Lupin said, smiling. "Now, let's see how you fare against the boggart."

Dahlia's excitement dimmed, replaced by a nervous flutter in her stomach. She stepped into position as Lupin moved to the packing case.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," she said, gripping her wand tightly.

Lupin opened the lid, and the boggart transformed. A dementor rose from the box, its glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak as it glided forward. The temperature in the room plummeted, and the lamps flickered out.

"Expecto Patronum!" Dahlia shouted. "Expecto Patronum!"

The words faltered as the classroom blurred. Her mother's voice rang in her head—pleading, desperate. "Not Lia! Please—not Lia!" Dahlia's knees buckled, and she collapsed.

"Lia!" Lupin's voice cut through the fog, and she came to, lying on the cold floor.

"Sorry," Dahlia muttered, sitting up and wiping sweat from her brow.

"Are you all right?" Lupin asked, kneeling beside her.

"Yes..." Dahlia said, her voice trembling.

"Here." He handed her a Chocolate Frog. "Eat this. It helps."

Dahlia took a bite, the chocolate's warmth spreading through her. "I heard her louder this time," she whispered. "And my dad... he was shouting, trying to protect us..."

Lupin's expression tightened. "If you want to stop, Dahlia, I'll understand."

"No!" she said fiercely. "I can't stop. What if the dementors come during our Quidditch match? I can't let them win!"

Lupin smiled faintly. "You're so much like Lily—and James, too, when it comes to Quidditch."

"Well, I am their daughter," Dahlia replied with a small grin.

"You certainly are," Lupin said warmly.

"Let's go again," Dahlia insisted, standing up.

"Choose a stronger memory," Lupin advised. "Something truly happy."

Dahlia thought hard, finally settling on the moment she learned she was a witch—a memory that symbolized freedom and hope.

"Ready?" Lupin asked.

"Ready," Dahlia said, her jaw set.

The dementor emerged again, and this time, Dahlia shouted with everything she had. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A silvery shape burst from her wand, holding the dementor at bay before dissipating. Dahlia's legs trembled, but she stayed upright.

"Excellent!" Lupin said, beaming. "You're making real progress."

Dahlia sank into a chair, exhausted. "Can we go one more time?"

"Not tonight," Lupin said firmly, handing her a large bar of chocolate. "Same time next week."

As Dahlia got ready to leave, she hesitated. "Uncle Moony... do you really believe Sirius betrayed my parents?"

Lupin froze. "I... I don't know. I want to believe he didn't. I loved him—I love him—but what he did..." His voice cracked, tears shining in his eyes.

Dahlia reached out, her voice soft. "He wasn't the Secret Keeper, you know."

"What?" Lupin whispered, his face pale.

"They switched at the last minute. Sirius was a decoy. He wasn't the one who betrayed them."

Lupin staggered slightly, gripping the desk for support. "I... I need to process this."

"Goodnight, Uncle Moony," Dahlia said gently.

"Goodnight, Prongslet," Lupin murmured, still lost in thought.

Dahlia left the classroom, her footsteps echoing faintly in the empty corridor. The cold air clung to her skin, making her shiver. Turning a corner, she slipped behind a suit of armor and sank down onto its stone plinth. She unwrapped the rest of her chocolate and took a slow bite, the rich sweetness melting on her tongue. Yet, no amount of warmth from the treat could shake the heaviness pressing down on her chest.

Her mother's voice echoed in her head again, raw and desperate: "Not Lia! Please—not Lia!" It was so vivid that it felt as though the words were etched into her very bones. She clutched at her robes, her breath hitching slightly as the ache grew.

But then, almost as if called forward by her yearning, another memory flickered to life. Her father's voice. It was faint and distant, barely more than a whisper in the recesses of her mind.

"Lily, take Dahlia and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—"

The words hit her harder than any spell could. She closed her eyes tightly, her lips trembling as she tried to grasp onto the fleeting sound of him. She had always longed for more of him—a memory, a story, even a photograph where he wasn't just an outline beside her mother. And now here it was: his voice. Strong, fierce, and filled with the determination to protect his family.

Her fingers tightened around her wand, and her jaw clenched. Dad. He stayed. He fought for us. For me. A sob caught in her throat, but she forced it down, swallowing hard. "He shouldn't have had to do it alone," she whispered, her voice cracking. "But he did. He gave me a chance to live."

She let herself linger in the moment, imagining him standing there—messy hair, a crooked grin, and the spark of defiance in his hazel eyes. She didn't remember much about him, but she liked to think she carried that same spark in her own heart.

"I wish I knew you," she murmured, her hand resting on her chest as if it could somehow bridge the void between them. "I wish I could've heard you laugh... or watched you play Quidditch." A small, bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. "Maybe you would've taught me all your tricks. Maybe you'd be at my matches, cheering louder than anyone else."

The thought brought a warmth that dulled the ache, even if only slightly. She imagined him in the stands, standing up and whooping as she pulled off a daring dive. "That's my girl!" he'd shout, his voice booming with pride.

Her smile faltered, and she stared down at the half-eaten chocolate in her hand. She felt drained and strangely hollow, even though she was so full of thoughts. Terrible though it was to hear her parents' last moments replayed inside her head, these were the only times she'd ever heard their voices since she was a child. And as much as it hurt, a small, selfish part of her almost didn't want it to stop.

"They're gone," she told herself sternly, though her voice shook. "Listening to echoes of them won't bring them back. And it's not what they'd want for me."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, forcing herself to stand. The chocolate went down in one last, defiant bite, and she brushed off her robes. Her father's words echoed in her mind again, not as a haunting memory but as a challenge. "I'll hold him off—"

He had been brave. So brave. She owed it to him, and to her mother, to carry that bravery forward.

Squaring her shoulders, she adjusted her glasses and set off down the corridor. "One foot in front of the other," she whispered. "Gryffindor needs you. Uncle Moony needs you. You're going to win that cup. And you're going to be someone they'd be proud of."

As she climbed through the portrait hole into the common room's warm, golden glow, Dahlia felt something inside her shift. The ache was still there, but so was the strength she'd inherited from the parents who had given everything for her.

And she was determined to honor it.

Chapter Text

The first Quidditch match after the holidays saw Ravenclaw facing off against Slytherin. Despite a close score, Slytherin emerged victorious. While this might have been bad news for most teams, Oliver Wood seemed almost optimistic about it.

"This is perfect!" he said to the Gryffindor team during a hastily-called meeting in the common room that evening. "If we beat Ravenclaw, we'll take second place—possibly first if Slytherin slips up in their next match!"

Dahlia, sitting cross-legged in an armchair, let out a groan as Oliver started enthusiastically mapping out new strategies on a chalkboard he had dragged into the common room.

"Wood, do you even sleep?" she asked, half-joking.

"Sleep?" Oliver said, as though the word was foreign to him. "Sleep doesn't win Quidditch Cups, Potter! Practice does! Which is why I've increased practices to five times a week."

"Five?" Katie sputtered from her spot beside her. "Have mercy on us mere mortals, Wood!"

"You're not mortal; you're a Gryffindor," Oliver said firmly, tapping his chalk against the board. "And Gryffindors push through!"

Dahlia exchanged a look with Katie, who mouthed, "He's mad."

Between Wood's grueling practice schedule and her anti-Dementor lessons with Lupin, Dahlia barely had time to breathe, let alone focus on her ever-growing pile of homework. Even so, she noticed she wasn't the only one struggling. Hermione seemed to be running herself ragged, often surrounded by mountains of books and snapping at anyone who interrupted her.

One evening, as Dahlia tried to finish an essay for Snape on Undetectable Poisons, Ron leaned over and muttered, "How's she doing it?"

"Doing what?" Dahlia asked, not looking up from her parchment.

"Getting to all her classes!" Ron whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief. "She's everywhere. I heard her talking to Professor Vector about Arithmancy this morning, but she was with us in Care of Magical Creatures at the same time! And Ernie swears she's never missed a single Muggle Studies class, but half of those overlap with Divination!"

"I've got no idea," Dahlia admitted, glancing over at Hermione, who was scribbling furiously behind a tottering stack of books. "Maybe she's got a Time-Turner or something?"

Ron snorted. "Yeah, right. Like McGonagall would let a student mess around with time."

Before Dahlia could respond, Oliver appeared out of nowhere, his face set in a determined scowl.

"Potter," he said urgently. "You need your broom—now."

"I told you, Oliver," Dahlia sighed. "My uncle hasn't had time to finish checking it yet. I'll ask him tomorrow."

"You'd better," Oliver said sternly. "We can't have you missing practice anymore. You're our star Seeker!" With that, he spun on his heel and marched off.

The next morning, Dahlia cornered Lupin after Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Uncle Moony," she said, leaning against his desk, "please tell me you've finished checking my broom for jinxes. Wood is about two seconds away from having an aneurysm."

Remus chuckled as he put away his lesson plans. "Yes, Dahlia, it's safe. I've run every test I know, and there's not a single trace of dark magic on it."

"Oh, thank Merlin—and Salazar," Dahlia said, sighing in relief. "I can finally get Wood off my back."

"Your captain sounds worse than James ever was," Remus said with a fond smile.

"Really?" Dahlia asked, curious.

"Oh, absolutely," he said. "James was obsessive about Quidditch, sure, but he never let it take over his life. Though he did have a habit of dragging Sirius out of bed for early practices. Which, of course, meant I got woken up too."

Dahlia laughed. "Sounds like Dad was a menace."

"Only when it came to Quidditch," Remus said, chuckling. "By the way, why didn't you ask Professor McGonagall or Flitwick to check your broom? Why me?"

Dahlia hesitated, her expression turning sheepish. "I didn't want them asking too many questions about where it came from."

"And where did it come from?" Remus asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Sirius," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Remus froze, his face shifting from curiosity to something more guarded. "Sirius?" he echoed.

"He sent it to me over Yule," Dahlia explained, studying his reaction.

"I see..." Remus said softly, his expression unreadable.

Before the conversation could continue, Dahlia glanced at the clock. "I've got to go—class is starting soon. Thanks again, Uncle Moony!"

As she left the classroom, Remus sat back in his chair, staring at the desk in deep thought. The mention of Sirius's name stirred feelings he had long tried to bury, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was more to the story than he had been told.

Later that day, Dahlia brought her Firebolt to Quidditch practice. The moment Oliver saw it, his face lit up like Christmas had come early.

"You've got it!" he exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement. "And it's a Firebolt! Merlin's beard, Potter, this is fantastic!"

The rest of the team gathered around to admire the broom, their faces filled with awe.

"Dahlia, if we don't win the Cup with you on this, I'll eat my broomstick," Fred said, grinning.

"No pressure, though," George added, smirking.

Dahlia rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. As Wood began barking orders for practice, she mounted her broom and took off into the sky, the Firebolt responding to her every touch with exhilarating precision.

Dahlia's anti-dementor lessons were not going as smoothly as she had hoped. Despite weeks of effort, she could only muster a feeble, silvery mist that hovered in the air like a transparent cloud. It wasn't nearly strong enough to drive the boggart-dementor away, leaving her feeling drained and increasingly frustrated with herself. Deep down, a nagging guilt about her secret desire to hear her parents' voices again weighed heavily on her.

During their fourth week of practice, Professor Lupin regarded her sternly. "You're expecting too much of yourself, Dahlia. For a thirteen-year-old witch, even producing an indistinct Patronus is an extraordinary achievement. You're not passing out anymore, are you?"

Dahlia sighed, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "I thought a Patronus would just... charge at the dementors or something. Make them disappear."

"The true Patronus does that, yes," Lupin said gently. "But you've already accomplished a great deal in a short time. If dementors show up at your next Quidditch match, I'm confident you'll hold them off long enough to get to safety."

"But you said it's harder when there are loads of them," Dahlia said, her frustration leaking into her voice.

Lupin smiled. "I have complete confidence in you. Now, I think you've earned a little reward. Let's try something new."

From his briefcase, he pulled out two bottles. Dahlia's eyes lit up. "Butterbeer!" she exclaimed, then quickly added, "Uh—I mean, yeah, I've had it before. Ron and Hermione brought me some back from Hogsmeade."

Lupin raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with her attempt at a lie. "You didn't inherit your mother's skill at lying, Prongslet. You're even worse than James. Now, out with it. How do you know what butterbeer tastes like?"

Dahlia groaned, feeling her cheeks heat up. "Fine. I snuck into Hogsmeade with my invisibility cloak."

"I see." Lupin didn't sound angry, but the way his lips twitched suggested he was holding back a laugh. "Well, let's toast to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw—not that I'm supposed to take sides as a teacher." He winked, clinking his bottle against hers.

As they drank, the conversation took a darker turn. "Professor," Dahlia said hesitantly, "what's under a dementor's hood?"

Lupin set his bottle down thoughtfully. "The only people who know for certain... can't tell us. You see, a dementor lowers its hood to use its last and worst weapon."

"What's that?" she asked, though part of her wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"They call it the Dementor's Kiss," Lupin said grimly. "It doesn't kill you. No, it's worse. The dementor sucks out your soul. What's left of you is... nothing. Just a shell. You'll have no thoughts, no memories, no self. Your soul is gone forever."

Dahlia's grip on her bottle tightened. "That's horrible. They... they wouldn't do that to anyone, would they?"

Lupin's expression grew somber. "The Ministry has given the dementors permission to use it—on Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning."

The thought of someone suffering that fate made Dahlia's stomach churn. She hesitated before asking, "Doesn't that scare you? Losing him like that?"

Lupin sighed, his gaze growing distant, his voice tinged with a deep, quiet sorrow. "I lost him thirteen years ago, Dahlia. Or at least, I thought I had. But if what you read in James's journal is true... it changes everything. It's more complicated than I can put into words." He paused, the weight of his emotions evident in his expression. "If I were to lose him again—truly, this time—it would shatter me in ways I'm not sure I could recover from. Because I love him, Lia. I always have."

"Nobody deserves that," Dahlia said firmly, "except maybe Voldemort and his followers."

"Let's hope the world doesn't have to decide," Lupin said softly, taking another sip of butterbeer.

Dahlia finished her butterbeer, thanked Remus with a small smile, and left the classroom. Her thoughts were swirling so much she didn't even notice where she was walking until she collided headlong into Theo Nott halfway up the staircase.

"Ah, cara," Theo teased, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder, "are you sure you don't just plan these little run-ins with me?"

"Oh, Theo." Dahlia rubbed her temple, flustered. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"You never are when we meet like this," he replied, a teasing lilt in his voice, though his gaze softened as he studied her face.

"Shut up," she retorted, though the corner of her lips twitched upward.

She turned to walk away, but Theo gently caught her wrist. "Wait, Dahlia. We haven't talked in days. I'm beginning to think you're avoiding me."

Dahlia stopped, her shoulders sagging with guilt. "I know. I've just been... swamped. Between Quidditch practice, Patronus lessons, and all this schoolwork, I barely have time to breathe."

"Understandable," Theo said as he fell into step beside her. "But it doesn't mean I can't walk you back to your tower. Let me play knight for the Gryffindor princess, hmm?"

Dahlia rolled her eyes but didn't protest, and they walked together in a comfortable silence for a few moments. Then she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Theo... were you serious? About what you implied that night?"

Theo's smirk grew wider. "Ah, so you did read that part of your book. I thought you might've skipped over it."

"Theo." Her cheeks flushed, and she stopped to face him. "Answer the question."

His expression shifted from teasing to earnest as he met her gaze. "Of course I'm serious, Cara. I've liked you for longer than you realize."

She blinked, taken aback. "But... we barely spoke before Diagon Alley!"

Theo shrugged, his smile tinged with amusement. "Doesn't mean I wasn't paying attention. Sometimes admiration doesn't need words—at least not at first."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're messing with me. If you were serious, you'd have sent me a gift of intent by now."

Theo's grin turned sheepish. "I haven't sent one yet because I want it to be perfect. Only the best for my Cara Mia."

Dahlia's cheeks burned, and she struggled to suppress the smile tugging at her lips. She turned away quickly, but Theo noticed the slight curve nonetheless.

When they reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, they were greeted by Fred, George, Neville, and Ron, all standing with crossed arms and expressions of mock harshness.

"Well, well," Fred drawled. "If it isn't the Slytherin Ice prince himself."

"The one and only," George added, squinting at Theo as though sizing him up.

"What exactly are your intentions with our sister?" Neville asked, his unusually stern tone making Theo falter for a moment.

Theo quickly regained his composure, standing a little straighter. "I intend to treat her like the queen she is. To give her everything she deserves and love her with everything I have—for as long as I have."

Fred and George exchanged an exaggerated look of approval. "Hmmm, promising words," Fred said.

"But," Neville interrupted, leaning in closer, "you'd better send that gift of intent soon, Nott. Because if you don't, someone else might beat you to it."

Theo smirked, unruffled. "Don't worry. It'll be worth the wait."

Dahlia groaned, tugging open the portrait hole. "Goodnight, Theo. And you lot—leave him alone!"

Fred, George, and Neville snickered, while Ron muttered under his breath, "Still don't trust him."

But as the portrait hole swung shut behind her, Dahlia couldn't help the small smile that lingered on her lips.

Later that night, Dahlia found herself sitting cross-legged on her bed, munching on a piece of chocolate while gazing at the Marauder's Map spread out before her. Her brow furrowed as her eyes scanned the familiar names drifting across the parchment. Suddenly, her gaze froze, and her heart skipped a beat.

"Peter Pettigrew?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But... he's supposed to be dead."

Curiosity overtook her. Dahlia slipped out of bed, her wand lit softly with Lumos as she tiptoed across the dormitory floor, careful to avoid the creaking boards. The portraits on the walls grumbled in irritation as she passed, muttering about inconsiderate students disrupting their peace.

Following the map's movements, she saw the tiny label Peter Pettigrew inching closer to her position. Her pulse quickened. She glanced around the dimly lit corridor but saw no one. Yet on the map, Pettigrew passed right by her.

"That's impossible..." she muttered, turning in circles.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Panic surged as she quickly whispered, "Mischief managed," wiping the map clean, and extinguished her wand with a hurried "Nox." She barely had time to tuck the map into her robe pocket before the glow of another wand lit the corridor.

"Potter," came Snape's unmistakably sharp tone, his wand pointed at her. "What are you doing wandering the corridors at night?"

Dahlia's mind raced. "Sleepwalking?" she offered with a grimace, knowing it was a terrible excuse. She realized too late that she was still wearing her glasses.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "How extraordinarily like your father you are. He too was exceedingly arrogant, strutting about the castle as though he owned the place."

Dahlia smirked. "Thank you, sir. Really. I didn't know my dad did that, but if I'm being honest, have you seen us? With looks like ours, why wouldn't we flaunt it?" She gestured dramatically to herself. "And if you don't mind, could you lower your wand? I understand if you want to admire my beauty, but... well, coming from someone who avoids bathing, I can see why you'd be jealous."

Snape's face contorted in rage. "Why, you—turn out your pockets!"

Dahlia hesitated, but eventually, she produced the folded parchment, now blank.

"What is this?"

"A spare bit of parchment," she said innocently.

"Really?" Snape's eyes narrowed. "Open it."

She rolled her eyes and unfolded the map. Snape pointed his wand at it. "Reveal your secrets!"

To Dahlia's delight, the map didn't reveal itself but instead produced words across the surface. She stifled a laugh as Snape's brow furrowed, noticing her amusement.

"Read it," he barked.

"Uh... okay." Dahlia cleared her throat. "Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs offer their compliments to Professor Snape and..." She coughed to cover a laugh.

"Continue," Snape growled.

"...and request that he keeps his large nose out of other people's business," she finished with a grin.

Snape's face turned a deep shade of red. "You insolent little—"

"Professor!" came a calm voice from behind.

Both turned to see Lupin approaching, his expression unreadable.

"Well, well. Lupin," Snape said coldly, lowering his wand. "Out for a little stroll in the moonlight, are we?"

Lupin ignored the jab and focused on Dahlia. "Lia, are you alright?"

"She seems fine," Snape interjected sharply. "Though that remains to be seen. I've just confiscated a rather curious artifact. Take a look, Lupin. Supposedly your area of expertise."

Snape handed the blank map to Lupin, who inspected it thoughtfully.

"Clearly, it's full of dark magic," Snape added.

"I seriously doubt that," Lupin said calmly. "It appears to be a simple parchment designed to insult anyone trying to read it. Likely a Zonko's product."

Snape made to grab the map back, but Lupin smoothly dodged. "Nevertheless," Lupin continued, "I'll examine it thoroughly. It is, after all, my area of expertise. Dahlia, come with me, please. Goodnight, Severus."

Lupin and Dahlia entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. As he set the map on his desk, Lupin turned to her, his expression a mix of concern and amusement.

"I suppose this is what you've been using to sneak into Hogsmeade?" he asked.

Dahlia fiddled nervously with the end of her braid. "Maybe..."

"Prongslet, I know you're convinced Sirius isn't a danger to you," Lupin said, folding his arms. "But you can't wander the castle at night. It's not safe."

"Sorry, Uncle Moony," she murmured.

He nodded, his tone softening. "Alright. Off you go to bed. It's late."

Dahlia turned to leave but paused at the door. "You're not giving the map back, are you?"

"I'm a teacher, Lia. Of course I'm confiscating it."

Her jaw dropped. "But Uncle Moony, you can't be serious!"

"Of course I'm not. That's my husband," Lupin said with a sly smile. "But no, I'm not returning it. For now, at least."

Dahlia pouted, but as she stepped toward the door, she hesitated again. "Uncle Moony... are you sure the map isn't... defective?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I saw someone on it tonight. Someone who's supposed to be dead."

Lupin stiffened. "Who?"

"Peter Pettigrew," she said quietly.

Lupin's face paled. "That's... not possible."

"I know, but I'm just telling you what I saw," she insisted.

Lupin stared at her, his expression troubled. "Goodnight, Lia," he said eventually.

"Goodnight, Uncle Moony." Dahlia left, leaving Lupin deep in thought, his hand resting on the map.

Chapter Text

Dahlia stood outside the Divination classroom, arms crossed, waiting for Ron and Hermione. Ancient Runes had been canceled since Professor Babbling was feeling under the weather, so she decided to catch up with her friends. A few minutes later, students began to spill out of the trapdoor, Ron among them—but Hermione was nowhere in sight.

"Where's Hermione?" Dahlia asked, raising an eyebrow at Ron.

"She's gone mental, I'm telling you, Lia. Well, not that she wasn't already mental," Ron said with a shrug.

Dahlia narrowed her eyes. "Don't let her hear you say that. What happened, anyway?"

Ron smirked but then his expression turned thoughtful. "She stormed out of class. Think she's finally had it with Trelawney's nonsense. Dropped Divination altogether, if you ask me."

"Oh..." Dahlia replied, glancing past Ron to see if Hermione might reappear. Her eyes caught sight of a crystal ball rolling near the edge of the staircase. She bent down to pick it up. "We should return this."

"I'm not going back in there," Ron said immediately, his nose wrinkling.

Dahlia sighed. "Fine. Wait here for me."

"Sure," Ron said, leaning against the wall.

Dahlia climbed back into the classroom. It was quiet now, with no students around. The room itself drew her attention. It felt like an attic meeting an old-fashioned teashop—draped in soft crimson light, with a crowded fireplace that emitted a faint, cloying perfume. The curtains were heavy and drawn, with lamps swathed in red scarves, casting odd shadows across the runes carved into the walls.

She placed the crystal ball back in its stand, the glass surface cool under her fingertips. As she turned to leave, her name seemed to echo faintly.

"Dahlia..."

She froze. The sound wasn't loud, but unmistakable, like a whisper curling around her ear. Her heart quickened.

"Professor Trelawney?" Dahlia called out nervously.

Suddenly, a hand landed on her shoulder, making her yelp and spin around.

It was Professor Trelawney, her large, bespectacled eyes staring through Dahlia, as though she weren't even there. She looked almost entranced.

"He will return tonight..." Trelawney said, her voice distant and eerie, as if it wasn't her own.

"What?" Dahlia asked, taking a step back.

"Tonight..." Trelawney's voice grew louder, harsher. "He who betrayed his friends, whose heart rots with murder, shall be free. Innocent blood shall be spilled. The servant and master shall be reunited once more!"

Trelawney gasped suddenly, her body jerking forward as if struck by an invisible force. She coughed, her trance breaking as she clutched her scarf. "Oh, my dear girl! Did you say something? You startled me!"

Dahlia stared, shaken. "No... nothing, Professor. I-I need to go."

Without waiting for a reply, Dahlia hurried out of the classroom and climbed down the trapdoor to find Ron waiting.

"Lia, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," Ron said, frowning as he studied her pale face.

"I'm fine..." Dahlia replied quickly, her voice unsteady.

Ron didn't look convinced. "You sure? You look like someone just told you Voldemort's hosting a tea party."

"I said I'm fine, Ron," she snapped, though her hands trembled slightly as she tucked them behind her back.

Ron held up his hands defensively. "Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off."

Dahlia didn't respond. Her mind was still replaying Trelawney's words: 'He who betrayed his friends... innocent blood... servant and master...' It all felt like some horrible premonition.

"Come on," she said finally, her voice firm. "Let's find Hermione."

Ron followed, glancing at her uneasily. Whatever had happened in that classroom, it had shaken Dahlia to her core—and he had a bad feeling they'd find out why sooner rather than later.

Ron and Dahlia climbed through the portrait hole into Gryffindor Tower, the warmth of the common room doing little to ease the tension weighing on Dahlia's chest. Professor Trelawney's eerie words kept echoing in her mind. She sat by the fireplace, her knees tucked to her chest, while Ron paced anxiously.

They had been waiting for a while when the portrait door swung open, and Hermione entered, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed.

"Mione, we've been looking for you!" Dahlia said, standing quickly. But her words faltered when she saw Hermione's expression. "What's wrong?"

"Buckbeak lost," Hermione said weakly, holding up a crumpled piece of parchment. "Hagrid just sent this."

Ron took the note and read it aloud, his voice heavy:

"Lost appeal. They're going to execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don't come down. I don't want you to see it. Hagrid."

For a moment, the three of them stood in stunned silence.

"We've got to go," Dahlia said firmly, breaking the quiet. "He can't just sit there on his own, waiting for the executioner!"

"Sunset, though," Ron said, glancing out the window at the fading daylight. "We'd never be allowed... especially you, Lia. You're already pushing it with—"

"Oh, I don't give a damn!" Dahlia snapped, grabbing her wand. "Let's go now!"

Ron exchanged a glance with Hermione, then followed as Dahlia stormed out.

When they reached the castle grounds, Dahlia's gaze locked onto a menacing figure in the courtyard. Macnair, the executioner, was polishing his gleaming axe with meticulous care, the blade catching the waning light ominously. His cold, cruel eyes flicked up to meet theirs, and a slow, sinister smirk spread across his face. Dahlia felt an icy shiver race down her spine.

"I can't believe they're going to kill Buckbeak," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling with suppressed anger. "It's barbaric... it's too horrible."

"And it just got worse," Ron muttered, pointing ahead of them.

There, standing smugly on the hilltop overlooking Buckbeak, was Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy's sneer deepened as he caught sight of them, and his voice rang out with mockery.

"What did I tell you?" Malfoy crowed. "Father says I can keep the hippogriff's head as a trophy. Maybe I'll donate it to Gryffindor's common room—it'll look splendid as a centerpiece!"

Dahlia's fists clenched at her sides, her emerald eyes flashing with fury. She was about to storm up the hill when Hermione marched past her, her wand raised and shaking with anger.

"You!" Hermione's voice cracked like a whip. "You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!"

Malfoy faltered, taking an instinctive step back, his eyes darting to her wand. "What's your problem, Granger?!" he snapped, his bravado faltering.

"Hermione, no!" Ron said quickly, grabbing her arm. "He's not worth it, let it go!"

Hermione hesitated for a moment, her wand lowering, though her glare could have incinerated Malfoy on the spot. Sensing her restraint, Malfoy's smirk returned, and he glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, who began their usual sycophantic guffawing.

"Run along, Granger," Malfoy sneered, his tone dripping with condescension. "You wouldn't want to lose points for—"

CRACK.

Dahlia's jaw dropped as Hermione's fist shot forward, connecting squarely with Malfoy's smug face. The impact sent him stumbling back into Crabbe and Goyle, who barely managed to catch him. Blood trickled from Malfoy's nose as he cupped it with both hands, his expression a mixture of pain and humiliation.

"Malfoy, are you okay?!" Crabbe asked, his voice tinged with panic.

"Shut up, you idiot!" Malfoy hissed, glaring at Hermione. "Let's go!" He turned on his heel, retreating with Crabbe and Goyle scurrying behind him like frightened lapdogs.

Hermione stood frozen, staring down at her hand as if it belonged to someone else. A slow, incredulous smile crept onto her face. "That felt... really good," she admitted, a note of surprise in her voice.

"Good?" Ron laughed, his face lighting up with admiration. "That was bloody brilliant, Hermione!"

Dahlia, still grinning, stepped up beside her and gave her a playful nudge on the shoulder. "That's my girl," she said, smirking. "Who needs magic when you've got a right hook like that?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away from where Malfoy had disappeared. "I just couldn't listen to him anymore. He deserved it."

"And then some," Dahlia agreed, her grin widening. "Next time, let me have a go."

"One good punch per Gryffindor," Hermione replied with mock seriousness, finally laughing.

The three hurried to Hagrid's hut, knocking urgently on the door. Hagrid opened it, his face streaked with fresh tears, his shoulders hunched in defeat.

"What're you three doin' here?" he said gruffly. "I told yeh not to come—and, Lia, yeh know you're not supposed to be out at this time!"

"Oh, I don't care about that, Hagrid!" Dahlia said fiercely. "We're here for you and Buckbeak!"

Hagrid sighed heavily and turned to gaze out the window, where Buckbeak stood chained in the paddock. "Look at him... loves the smell of the trees when the wind blows through 'em."

"Why don't we just set him free?" Dahlia suggested.

"They'd know it was me," Hagrid said, shaking his head. "Then Dumbledore'd be in trouble."

"Well, he's coming down anyway," Hagrid continued, his voice breaking. "Says he wants to be with me when they... when it happens. Great man, Dumbledore."

"We'll stay with you too," Hermione said softly.

"You'll do no such thing," Hagrid said firmly. "Think I want yeh seeing somethin' like that? No. Drink yer tea, then off yeh go. Oh—Ron."

Hagrid reached behind him and pulled out a squirming bundle.

"Scabbers!" Ron exclaimed, snatching the rat. "You're alive!"

"I think you owe someone an apology," Hermione said pointedly.

Ron huffed. "Right. Next time I see Crookshanks, I'll let him know."

"I meant me!" Hermione snapped.

Before Ron could respond, there was a loud crash as one of Hagrid's vases shattered.

"Blimey, what was that?" Ron asked.

Hermione bent to pick up a stone from the floor. "It's just a rock—"

"Ow!" Dahlia yelped, rubbing the back of her head where another rock had hit her. She turned and froze, eyes widening.

The silhouette of the Minister for Magic, Macnair, and Dumbledore loomed outside.

"Hagrid!" Dahlia hissed.

"Oh, crikey," Hagrid muttered. "You lot—out the back, quick!"

"Hagrid, it'll be fine," Dahlia said, touching his arm. "We'll figure something out."

"Go on!" he urged, ushering them out.

The trio slipped out through the back door and crouched behind the pumpkins. From their hiding spot, they watched as Dumbledore, Macnair, and the Minister entered Hagrid's hut.

"Look," Hermione whispered, pointing at the paddock. Buckbeak stood proudly, oblivious to his fate. Tears welled in Hermione's eyes.

"We should go," Ron said, tugging at their arms.

They climbed the hill, but when the axe fell, Hermione buried her face in Ron's shoulder, sobbing. Dahlia wrapped an arm around her, her own tears streaming freely.

Scabbers squirmed wildly in Ron's grasp, squealing frantically. Without warning, the rat bit down hard on Ron's finger.

"Ow!" Ron yelped, dropping Scabbers and clutching his bleeding hand. "He bit me! Scabbers, get back here!"

The rat bolted, weaving through the underbrush.

"Ron, wait up!" Dahlia called, huffing as she tried to keep pace. "I can't run properly in these shoes!"

"Why are you even wearing heels, Lia?" Hermione asked, exasperated as she jogged beside her.

"I didn't exactly plan for an evening marathon! You think I'd willingly wear these for this?"

"Just take them off!" Hermione groaned, grabbing Dahlia's arm and urging her forward.

Ahead, Ron finally caught up with Scabbers, scooping him into his hands. "Gotcha! You little—ouch! You bit me again!"

Dahlia and Hermione skidded to a halt, their eyes locking on the gnarled, towering tree behind him.

"Lia..." Hermione whispered, her voice trembling. "You realize what that tree is, don't you?"

Dahlia's stomach dropped. "Oh no. That's... the Whomping Willow."

Before they could react, Ron turned, confusion etched on his face. "What are you—?" His words faltered as his eyes widened in horror.

"Ron, run!" Hermione screamed, pointing frantically.

But it was too late. A massive black dog, its eyes gleaming with an unnatural intensity, leapt out of the shadows.

"It's the Grim!" Ron shouted, stumbling backward.

The dog growled menacingly before launching itself at Ron, knocking him to the ground. Its powerful jaws clamped onto his leg, dragging him toward the base of the Whomping Willow.

"Ron!" Dahlia screamed, her hand outstretched.

"Help!" Ron cried, clawing at the dirt with one hand while the other desperately clutched Scabbers.

Dahlia lunged forward, trying to grab Ron's hand, but the dog's strength was too great. Before she could reach him, it dragged Ron into a dark tunnel beneath the tree.

"Ron!" Hermione shouted, her voice breaking.

Dahlia fell to her knees, staring in shock at the spot where Ron had disappeared.

"We have to go after him!" Dahlia said, determination hardening her features.

The Whomping Willow groaned ominously, its branches beginning to sway.

"Be careful!" Hermione yelled as the tree lashed out, its massive branches whipping dangerously close.

"Screw these damn heels!" Dahlia exclaimed, kicking them off and tossing them aside.

"Duck!" Hermione cried as a branch swung toward them. Dahlia turned too late, and the branch slammed into her, flinging her to the ground. Her glasses flew off, skidding across the grass.

"Dahlia!" Hermione shouted, dodging another branch and scrambling to her friend.

"Hermione, I can't see!" Dahlia shouted, her voice trembling.

Another branch whooshed overhead, narrowly missing her. Just as Dahlia's fingers closed around her glasses, Hermione swooped in, balancing precariously on a swinging branch of the Whomping Willow.

"Grab on!" Hermione shouted, reaching down.

Dahlia barely had time to adjust her glasses before Hermione yanked her up and hurled her toward the tunnel. Dahlia tumbled through, landing with a thud on the dirt floor.

Moments later, Hermione let go of the branch and dropped in behind her, crashing into Dahlia.

"Sorry!" Hermione said breathlessly, rolling off and helping Dahlia to her feet.

"No worries," Dahlia muttered, brushing dirt off her robes.

"Where do you think this leads?" Hermione asked, glancing around the shadowy tunnel.

"I've got a hunch," Dahlia replied, her voice steady despite the fear churning in her chest.

The two pressed forward, the tunnel twisting and narrowing as they moved deeper underground. The air grew colder, carrying an unsettling silence that made their footsteps echo eerily.

Finally, they reached a trapdoor. Dahlia pushed it open, and they emerged into a creaky, dimly lit room.

"This has to be the Shrieking Shack," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling with both fear and awe.

"Let's go," Dahlia said, her jaw set as she started up a rickety staircase.

Each step groaned under their weight, the wood threatening to give way. The walls were covered in deep scratches, and the faint smell of decay lingered in the air.

As they reached the landing, Dahlia turned to Hermione. "Stay close," she said, gripping her wand tightly.

They heard Ron's voice coming from a room at the end of the hall and rushed toward it.

"Ron!" Hermione cried as they burst through the door.

Ron was slumped on the floor, his face pale, clutching Scabbers tightly against his chest.

"Where's the dog?" Dahlia demanded, her eyes scanning the room.

"It's a trap," Ron rasped, his voice trembling. "He's the dog. He's the Animagus!" He raised a shaking hand, pointing behind them.

Hermione and Dahlia whirled around just in time to see the pawprints fade, and in their place stood a man.

Dahlia's breath hitched. "Sirius..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Sirius Black was nothing like the man she'd seen in photos from her father's journal. His once-handsome face was hollow, pale, and sharp as a blade, his matted hair hanging in tangled strands over sunken eyes that burned with a predatory intensity. His robes were ragged and filthy, hanging from his wiry frame like a ghost's shroud. Yet despite his frailty, there was something raw and dangerous about him—a man who had survived hell and come back for vengeance.

Sirius stepped forward, his wand loosely held in one hand. "Are you going to kill me?" Dahlia asked softly, her voice trembling but steady enough to carry her defiance.

His lips curled into a humorless smile. "Kill you? Never. But someone is dying tonight." His voice was a low, menacing growl as he raised his wand and pointed it at Ron.

"Him."

All three of them gasped, Ron paling even further.

"Y-you can't kill Ron!" Dahlia exclaimed, stepping protectively in front of him, her arms outstretched.

Before Sirius could respond, the door banged open, and Remus Lupin strode in, his face a mixture of shock and determination.

"Uncle Moony!" Dahlia cried in relief, though her words were frantic. "Help us! Your husband's gone mental—he's going to kill Ron!"

Remus froze, his brow arching at her words. Then he approached Sirius calmly, a hint of amusement flickering across his features despite the tension.

"Well, well," Remus said, his voice wry as he took in Sirius's appearance. "Looking a bit ragged, aren't we, husband? Finally, the flesh reflects the madness within."

Sirius gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "You'd know all about madness, wouldn't you, Remus?"

To Dahlia and the others' surprise, Remus suddenly stepped forward and embraced Sirius tightly.

"I found him," Sirius rasped, his voice breaking.

"I know," Remus said, his voice soft.

"Wait—WHAT?!" Hermione and Ron cried simultaneously, their confusion echoing in the room.

"Let's kill him," Sirius said flatly, pulling away.

"What?!" Ron stammered, clutching Scabbers tighter. "Why are you going to kill me? I haven't done anything to you!"

"Of course I'm not going to kill you," Sirius said, rolling his eyes.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?!" Ron wailed, trembling.

Dahlia frowned, realization dawning on her face. "Wait a second... the traitor. The one who betrayed my parents. He's here, isn't he?"

Sirius turned to her, his eyes blazing with vindication. "Yes, Prongslet. Someone we thought dead—Peter Pettigrew. He's in this room."

Remus nodded gravely. "Exactly. Pettigrew's been hiding all these years... and he's closer than you think."

"Who?" Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sirius pointed directly at Ron.

"Me?!" Ron squeaked. "Your godfather's lost his mind, Dahlia!"

"Not you, Ron." Sirius's voice was sharp. "Your rat."

Ron's jaw dropped. "Scabbers? That's insane—he's been in my family for—"

"Twelve years," Sirius interrupted. "Curiously long life for a common garden rat. And... he's missing a toe, isn't he?"

Ron hesitated. "So what if he is?"

Dahlia's eyes widened as the pieces clicked together. "All they found of Pettigrew was his—"

"Finger!" Sirius finished, his voice fierce. "The filthy coward cut it off to fake his death and has been hiding as a rat ever since!"

"Give him to me, Ron," Dahlia demanded.

Ron held Scabbers tighter. "No! What are you going to do to him? Leave him alone!"

Dahlia took Scabbers from Ron and handed it to Sirius. As Sirius and Remus advanced, Scabbers wriggled free, squeaking in terror as he darted toward a hole in the wall. Remus and Sirius cast stunning spells, and one finally hit its mark.

The rat transformed midair, landing on the floor as a man—a short, balding figure with watery eyes and trembling hands. Peter Pettigrew was trapped.

"Sirius... Remus... my old friends!" Pettigrew stammered, his voice quivering as he tried to back away.

"How dare you speak to us?" Sirius snarled, stepping forward.

"You sold James and Lily to Voldemort," Remus said, his wand trained on Pettigrew, his voice trembling with fury.

"I—I didn't mean to!" Pettigrew wailed. "The Dark Lord—you don't know what he's capable of! What would you have done, Sirius? WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE?"

"I would have died!" Sirius roared, his voice breaking with rage. "I would have died rather than betray my friends!"

Pettigrew scrambled backward, his watery eyes darting to Dahlia. "James wouldn't have wanted me killed! He would have shown me mercy!"

Dahlia recoiled as he reached for her, her lips curling in disgust. "Don't. Touch. Me."

Sirius grabbed Pettigrew by the collar, yanking him away from Dahlia. "James would have wanted you dead. And so do I."

"We should kill him together," Sirius growled, his eyes locking with Remus's.

"No!" Dahlia stepped between them, her emerald eyes blazing. "We're taking him to the castle. Let him face justice—and clear your name."

Pettigrew slumped in relief, muttering, "Bless you, girl. Bless you—"

Dahlia slapped Pettigrew's hand away with a sharp glare. "I said justice, not mercy. The Dementors can have you," she said coldly, her voice steady and full of resolve.

Pettigrew's eyes widened, his fear palpable as he stammered, "No, please—"

"Enough," Remus cut him off, his tone firm and unyielding. He raised his wand. "Incarcerous!"

Thick ropes materialized out of thin air, coiling tightly around Pettigrew's trembling form. He let out a pitiful whimper as the bindings pulled taut, immobilizing him completely.

Dahlia took a step back, her emerald eyes burning with determination. "You're lucky they still need you alive. Otherwise, I'd have let Sirius handle you."

Sirius smirked darkly at her words, crossing his arms as he loomed over the bound Pettigrew. "Oh, trust me, Prongslet, I'd have made it quick... but not painless."

Remus sighed, though there was a faint glint of approval in his gaze as he looked at Dahlia. "We'll let the Ministry deal with him. That's justice."

Dahlia nodded, never taking her eyes off Pettigrew. "Justice," she repeated, her voice colder than before. "Something my parents never got."

Pettigrew squirmed under her gaze, but the ropes held fast, and he was too afraid to speak again.

"Eugh, this floor is disgusting," Dahlia said dramatically, lifting her feet one at a time to inspect the grime clinging to her skin. "Seriously, ew. I need my shoes."

Remus shook his head with a fond smile. "Priorities," he muttered, pulling out his wand. With a flick, he cast a summoning charm, and Dahlia's shoes zoomed into his waiting hand.

"Thank you, Uncle Moony! You're the absolute best," Dahlia chirped, taking the shoes from him. She sat down on a rickety chair, muttering a cleaning charm to rid her feet of the dirt.

Sirius, who had been watching the exchange, scowled playfully. "You know, I'm her godfather," he said, folding his arms and glancing sideways at Remus.

"I'm well aware," Remus replied with a smirk, not looking up from where he was leaning against a battered wall. "And don't worry, Sirius. She'll love you."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You think so?"

Remus finally looked at him, his expression soft. "I know so. She already does, you know."

That caught Sirius off guard. His fierce, haunted expression melted into something unguarded and vulnerable, a glimpse of the man he used to be. "Really?"

Remus nodded. "She didn't believe what anyone said about you. Not even for a second. She's the one who told me you weren't the traitor. She fought for you before you even met."

Sirius glanced over at Dahlia, who was still fussing over her feet, making a show of inspecting every corner of her shoe for dirt. She was muttering under her breath about how no one respected the importance of footwear.

A small, genuine smile tugged at Sirius's lips. "She's just like James."

Remus chuckled softly. "She has Lily's fire, too."

Sirius watched as Dahlia finally stood, slipping into her now-spotless shoes with a triumphant grin. She glanced at the two of them, hands on her hips. "What? Why are you both staring at me like that?"

"Just... thinking how lucky I am," Sirius said, his voice rough but warm.

Dahlia tilted her head, her emerald eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. "Right. I'll assume you mean that sincerely and not because I'm the only one here with decent taste in footwear."

Remus let out a bark of laughter, while Sirius shook his head, his smile lingering.

"She's going to drive us mad, Moony," Sirius said quietly, though his voice carried no complaint.

"Madness suits you," Remus replied lightly, earning a chuckle from Sirius.

Dahlia, catching the tail end of their exchange, crossed her arms. "Oh, stop being cryptic. Let's get this over with so I can go back to not being barefoot in haunted shacks, yeah?"

The two men exchanged amused glances before following Dahlia out of the room, dragging Pettigrew behind them. Hermione and Dahlia crouched beside Ron, attempting to help him to his feet.

"This isn't working," Dahlia huffed, her arms trembling under Ron's weight. "I'm too weak for this. Thanks, Dursleys," she muttered bitterly.

"Here, let me," Sirius said, stepping in. Gently but firmly, he lifted Ron, allowing Hermione to support his other side.

The group made their way through the dim tunnel, Sirius leading with Dahlia close behind, and Remus bringing up the rear, shoving the tied Pettigrew forward.

"Sorry about the bite," Sirius said over his shoulder to Ron. "I reckon it twinges a bit."

"A bit? A bit?! You nearly tore my leg off!" Ron snapped.

Sirius smirked. "I was aiming for the rat. Normally, I've got quite a sweet disposition as a dog. James used to joke that I should make the change permanent—until the fleas. Absolute murder."

Dahlia stifled a giggle, shaking her head. "I can't tell if that's endearing or concerning."

When they finally emerged from the Whomping Willow, they propped Ron against its massive roots. Hermione knelt to examine his leg while Sirius scanned the surroundings warily.

"You'd better go," Hermione said, glancing at Dahlia.

"No," Dahlia replied, shaking her head. "Don't worry about me."

"It's fine, I'll stay," Hermione insisted.

"Are you okay?" Dahlia asked Ron softly.

"I'm fine. Go on," Ron grunted, motioning toward Sirius.

Dahlia hesitated, then approached Sirius, who stood a few steps away, staring intently at the towering silhouette of Hogwarts in the moonlight.

"Thanks for the Firebolt, Paddy," she said, stepping beside him.

Sirius turned, his tired face breaking into a small smile. "Of course. Only the best for my goddaughter." His voice softened. "Merlin, I missed so many years with you, Prongslet. So many moments. If I hadn't gone after Pettigrew that night..." His voice faltered, and he looked away, his eyes glistening.

Dahlia placed a hand on his arm. "It's okay, Sirius. I understand. Dad was like your brother. If something happened to Ron or Hermione... I'd react the same way."

Sirius chuckled through the lump in his throat. "You're so much like your dad." His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he sighed. "Beautiful, isn't it?" He gestured toward the castle. "I'll never forget my first time walking through those doors. It'd be nice to do it again... as a free man."

He paused, his face darkening. "You showed mercy back there. That was noble. He didn't deserve it."

"Dad wouldn't have wanted his best friends to become murderers," Dahlia replied softly. "Besides, dead, the truth dies with him. Alive, you're free."

A pleading voice interrupted them. "Turn me into a flobberworm, anything but the Dementors!"

They turned to see Pettigrew groveling before Ron and Hermione.

"Ron! Haven't I been a good pet? You won't let them give me to the Dementors, will you? I was your rat!" Pettigrew whined desperately.

Ron glared at him in disgust, saying nothing.

"Sweet, clever girl!" Pettigrew turned to Hermione. "Surely you won't—"

"Get away from her," Remus growled, yanking Pettigrew back by his bindings.

Sirius turned to Dahlia. "I don't know if you know, but when you were born, James and Lily made me—"

"My godfather," Dahlia finished with a faint smile. "I know. Their journals made that clear. It's one of the reasons I never believed the lies about you."

Sirius nodded, his voice thick. "Lia, I know it's a lot to ask, but... if you ever wanted a different home..." He hesitated, glancing at her. "You could come live with me."

Dahlia's eyes widened. "What? Come live with you?"

"It's just a thought," Sirius said quickly. "I'd understand if you didn't want to."

"I'd love to!" Dahlia exclaimed. "I hate living with my aunt and uncle. They're... horrible."

Sirius's face darkened. "Horrible how—"

"Sirius!" Hermione called urgently.

Both turned to see Remus convulsing.

"Bloody hell," Sirius cursed as he remembered something. "He didn't take his potion."

The transformation began, Remus's body contorting painfully as he let out a guttural growl. Pettigrew seized the moment, snatching Remus's wand to undo his bindings.

"Expelliarmus!" Dahlia yelled, but Pettigrew transformed before the spell hit, scurrying away into the darkness.

"Fucking rat," Dahlia muttered under her breath, her emerald eyes narrowing. She darted forward, barefoot, intent on chasing Pettigrew.

"Dahlia, no!" Hermione grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

"Run!" Sirius barked, his voice echoing in urgency.

Dahlia groaned, shaking her head in frustration. "Ah, of course! It's always chaos, isn't it?" she muttered, kicking off her shoes again. "Why do I even bother wearing these?"

A guttural growl behind them sent chills down their spines as they scrambled to move. Dahlia turned just in time to see Remus, now fully transformed into a werewolf, lunge at Sirius and fling him effortlessly into the air.

"Come on!" Dahlia shouted, slipping an arm under Ron's shoulders in an attempt to help him move. She winced under his weight, her body straining with the effort.

"You're going to hurt yourself," Ron grumbled weakly.

"Too late for that," she shot back, her voice tight.

"Wait!" Hermione said suddenly, her gaze locked on the hulking werewolf.

"Hermione, bad idea, very bad idea," Ron warned, his face pale with fear.

"Professor Lupin?" Hermione called hesitantly, taking a cautious step forward.

The werewolf turned to her, its yellow eyes gleaming menacingly. It let out a bone-chilling howl, and Hermione stumbled back.

"Nice doggy... nice doggy!" Ron squeaked, clutching Dahlia for support as the three of them huddled together.

"There you are, Potter," came a familiar, sneering voice.

The trio turned to see Snape emerging from the Whomping Willow, his dark robes billowing as he strode toward them.

"Professor!" Hermione cried.

Snape stopped abruptly, his expression freezing as the werewolf's growl echoed. Slowly, he turned, his face draining of color as he realized the imminent threat.

Without hesitation, Snape stepped in front of the trio, shielding them with his arms outstretched.

The werewolf struck, its massive paw knocking Snape and the students to the ground. The impact sent a wave of pain through Dahlia's side as she hit the dirt.

"Get up! Move!" she urged, scrambling to her feet and pulling Ron upright.

The werewolf loomed over them, its jaws snapping. Just as it prepared to strike, a large black dog lunged at it from the side. Sirius had transformed again, and he tackled the werewolf, growling and snapping with feral intensity.

"Sirius!" Dahlia shouted, her voice cracking with worry as the dog and werewolf fought viciously.

"Come back here, Potter!" Snape snarled, but his command went ignored.

Dahlia's heart raced as she saw the werewolf gain the upper hand, pinning Sirius down. Without thinking, she grabbed a nearby rock and hurled it with all her might, striking the werewolf squarely in the head.

The creature snarled, its attention shifting to her.

"Oh, my fucking Merlin, I'm so stupid," Dahlia muttered, frozen as the werewolf stalked toward her, its growl vibrating in her chest.

Before it could attack, a distant howl echoed through the night. The werewolf hesitated, its ears perking up, and then it turned and bolted toward the sound.

Dahlia exhaled shakily, her knees nearly buckling. But then she saw Sirius—back in his human form—stumbling toward the Black Lake, blood dripping from his side.

"Sirius!" she cried, sprinting after him despite the sharp stones cutting into her bare feet.

"Stupid stones. Ow, ow, ow!" she hissed, grimacing with each step.

Finally, she reached him. Sirius had collapsed at the water's edge, his breathing shallow, his skin pale.

"Siri! Sirius, no, stay with me!" Dahlia knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she tried to assess his wounds. Blood seeped through his torn shirt, and his eyes fluttered weakly.

The air suddenly grew colder. Dahlia's breath hitched as she looked up to see frost spreading across the ground, the surface of the lake freezing over.

"Oh great, just great," she muttered, her voice shaking. Her emerald eyes darted upward to see a swarm of Dementors descending upon them, their ragged forms circling ominously.

"No, no, no!" Dahlia stood, positioning herself between Sirius and the advancing Dementors. She raised her wand, her hand trembling.

"Expecto Patronum!" she yelled, pouring all her will into the spell.

A silvery light burst forth, forming a faint mist that managed to repel some of the Dementors. But her Patronus was weak, flickering as more of the creatures swarmed in.

Dahlia's legs buckled under the oppressive cold. The despair was suffocating, memories of the Dursleys' cruelty and her parents' deaths flooding her mind.

"Please... no..." she whispered, her voice barely audible as the Dementors closed in on her and Sirius.

Then, a blinding light erupted, bathing the entire area in radiant brilliance. Dahlia shielded her eyes, squinting as a glowing figure appeared in the center of the light.

Her heart leaped, recognition and disbelief flooding her mind. "It can't be..."

The world tilted, and she collapsed beside Sirius, her vision fading into darkness.

Chapter Text

"I saw my dad," Dahlia murmured as she slowly regained consciousness, her voice trembling but resolute.

"What?" Hermione's voice came from nearby, laced with confusion and concern.

Dahlia blinked, trying to orient herself. "I saw him. Across the lake. He was... he was there."

Hermione frowned, stepping closer. "Lia, you must've hit your head harder than I thought. That's—"

"No, Hermione, it was him!" Dahlia insisted, sitting up abruptly. Her heart raced, the image of her father still vivid in her mind. "I know it sounds crazy, but I know what I saw."

Before Hermione could respond, she said something that froze Dahlia in place. "Lia, they've captured Sirius. Any minute now, the Dementors are going to perform the Kiss."

Dahlia's eyes widened in horror, and she swung her legs off the side of the infirmary bed. "What? No, no, no. We have to go. Now!" She made to stand but froze mid-movement, glancing down at her bare feet. "Wait! Where are my shoes?! My precious shoes, where are they?"

Hermione stared at her, equal parts exasperated and amused. "Seriously? Now is not the time!" She reached under a nearby chair, pulling out Dahlia's slightly battered shoes. "Here," she said with a roll of her eyes, handing them over.

"Thank you," Dahlia said quickly, slipping them on. "They've been through so much," she muttered dramatically before tightening the straps.

Before Hermione could retort, the doors of the infirmary burst open, and Dumbledore swept in, his presence commanding and serene. His piercing blue eyes scanned the room, and Dahlia immediately surged forward.

"They've got the wrong man!" Dahlia blurted out, desperation clear in her voice.

"It's true—Sirius is innocent," Hermione added quickly, stepping beside her friend.

"It's Scabbers!" Ron's weak voice piped up from across the room. He was propped up on a bed, his leg heavily bandaged. "He's the one who did it!"

"Scabbers?" Dumbledore repeated, his brow arching slightly.

"He's my rat... well, he's not really a rat. I mean, he was a rat," Ron rambled, waving his hands vaguely. "He belonged to my brother Percy before me, but then Percy got an owl, so I got Scabbers—"

Dahlia groaned, cutting him off. "The point is, Pettigrew is alive, and he's the one who betrayed my parents! Not Sirius."

"Please, Professor," Hermione pleaded, her voice earnest. "You have to believe us."

Dumbledore looked at each of them in turn, his expression calm but unreadable. "I do, Miss Granger," he said finally, his voice soft. "But the word of three thirteen-year-olds will convince few others."

Dahlia crossed her arms, an indignant look flashing across her face. Right. And yet one word from you, and almost everyone would believe it. You just refuse to speak up. She bit her tongue, keeping the thought to herself.

Dumbledore continued, his tone thoughtful. "A child's voice, however honest and true, is often meaningless to those who have forgotten how to listen." He placed a hand gently on Ron's injured leg as he passed, making the boy wince.

"Mysterious thing, time," Dumbledore mused, pacing the room slowly. "Powerful, and when meddled with, dangerous. Sirius Black is currently in the topmost cell of the Dark Tower." His gaze flicked meaningfully toward Hermione. "You know the laws, Miss Granger. You must not be seen."

Hermione's face tensed, and her hand instinctively went to the chain around her neck, where the Time-Turner was hidden.

Dahlia noticed and frowned. "What's he talking about?" she asked suspiciously.

"You must not be seen." Dumbledore continued, his tone more pointed now.  "And you would do well to return before the last chime. If not... the consequences are too ghastly to discuss."

Dahlia looked between Dumbledore and Hermione. "What laws? What is he—"

Hermione pulled out the Time-Turner, the delicate hourglass glinting faintly in the dim light. Dahlia's mouth fell open.

"I knew it! Of course you have a secret gadget that rewinds time," Dahlia said with a mixture of awe and irritation. "Do you also have a dragon in your bag?"

"We don't have time for this!" Hermione snapped, glancing at the clock. "Come here."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with approval as he handed Hermione a small nod. "Three turns should suffice," he said. He moved toward the door but paused just before exiting. Turning back, he added with a faint smile, "Oh, and by the way, when in doubt, retracing one's steps is often a wise course of action. Good luck."

The door shut behind him with a soft click.

Dahlia raised a skeptical brow at Hermione, crossing her arms. "Okay, Hermione. Explain now."

Hermione shook her head briskly. "No time for explanations. Just trust me, all right?"

"Trust you? This involves time travel, Hermione! I think that warrants a few details," Dahlia countered.

"Sorry, Ron, seeing as you can't walk—" Hermione interrupted, ignoring Dahlia's protests as she quickly looped the Time-Turner chain around their necks.

Dahlia sighed in exasperation. "Fine. But if this ruins my shoes, I swear—" Her words cut off as Hermione spun the hourglass.

The world spiraled in a dizzying blur of colors and shapes. Dahlia instinctively grabbed Hermione's arm for balance, her heels making the whirlwind journey even more treacherous. They landed with a jarring thud, and Dahlia stumbled, catching herself just in time.

"Next time, I'm wearing boots," she muttered darkly as Hermione removed the chain.

Hermione glanced at her watch. "7:30. Where were we at 7:30?"

Dahlia frowned in thought. "Uhh, heading to Hagrid's, I think."

"Right. Let's move. We can't be seen," Hermione said urgently, already making her way toward the door.

"Oh, fabulous. More running," Dahlia grumbled, trailing behind. "In heels, for Salazar's sake."

"That's your fault," Hermione shot back.

"How was I supposed to know we'd be running an evening marathon?" Dahlia snapped, huffing as she struggled to keep up.

They froze as they turned a corner and spotted their past selves. Past Hermione was mid-swing, landing a solid punch on Malfoy's nose.

"Bloody hell, that's us," Dahlia whispered, a mix of fascination and unease on her face. "This is so freaky... and kind of cool."

"Shhh!" Hermione hissed, abruptly shoving Dahlia against the wall.

"Well, Hermione, I didn't know you liked me like that," Dahlia quipped, smirking despite herself.

"Focus!" Hermione scolded, though her cheeks flushed slightly. "McGonagall gave me this Time-Turner first term. It's how I've been getting to all my classes."

Dahlia gaped. "And you didn't tell me? I knew something was off! Well, this explains so much."

"Shh!" Hermione cut her off. "Dumbledore wanted us to come back here. He wouldn't have said it if there wasn't something important we needed to fix."

Just then, they watched past Hermione's punch connect again, Malfoy's shocked expression as satisfying as ever.

"That was a solid punch," Dahlia remarked, impressed.

"Thanks," Hermione replied with a faint smirk before snapping back to the present. "Malfoy's coming. Hide!"

The pair ducked behind a tree as their past selves hurried toward Hagrid's hut. Dahlia peeked out cautiously.

"Look! Buckbeak's still alive," she whispered, pointing to the Hippogriff tied near Hagrid's pumpkins.

"Of course," Hermione murmured, her expression sharpening. "Remember what Dumbledore said: if we succeed, more than one innocent life could be spared."

They crept down the hill toward the hut, crouching behind a cluster of oversized pumpkins. Dahlia winced as her dress snagged on a vine.

"This dress is officially ruined," she muttered under her breath.

"Shh! Here they come," Hermione whispered sharply, grabbing Dahlia's arm to stop her from moving.

Inside the hut, they watched Hagrid hand over Scabbers to Ron. Dahlia's hands twitched as she resisted the urge to storm in and grab the rat.

"I hate sitting here doing nothing," she muttered furiously. "That rat betrayed my parents, Hermione! How can you expect me to just—"

Hermione cut her off, gripping her shoulders. "You have to. Lia, you're smarter than this. If you run in there, you'll ruin everything. Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time. We cannot be seen."

Dahlia gritted her teeth, nodding reluctantly. "Fine. But this better work."

Hermione spotted a loose stone by her foot and suddenly hurled it toward the hut. Dahlia's eyes widened.

"Have you gone mad?!" she whispered furiously.

Another stone flew through the air and hit past Dahlia squarely on the back of her head.

"Ow! That hurt!" Dahlia yelped as she saw her past self getting hit.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered under her breath, wincing.

They watched as their past selves exited the hut. Quickly, the duo ducked behind another tree.

"Is that really what my hair looks like from the back?" Hermione whispered, frowning.

Dahlia snorted softly. "I think it looks fine, Hermione. Focus."

As soon as the coast was clear, they approached Buckbeak. The Hippogriff shuffled nervously, crows cawing and swooping around them.

"Get off!" Dahlia hissed, waving her hands at the crows. She carefully bowed to Buckbeak, who returned the gesture. Triumphantly, she moved to unlock his chain, only to yelp when a crow pecked her finger.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! Ow! Stupid bird."

"Keep trying!" Hermione urged.

Dahlia tugged at the chain with all her strength. "Come on, Buckbeak, please. I'm all skin and bones; I don't have the strength for this."

Hermione glanced around and spotted a few dead ferrets hanging from a hook nearby, clearly prepared by Hagrid as a treat for Buckbeak. She hesitated for a moment before grabbing all of it, holding it up awkwardly and giving it a little wave.

"Here, Buckbeak!" she called, her voice a mix of nervousness and determination. "Look—nice, uh... delicious dead ferret!" She waved it enticingly, trying her best to sound convincing.

Buckbeak immediately perked up, snapping the ferret from her hand. Hermione tossed another as they carefully led him toward the forest.

They paused, ducking into the trees as Dumbledore, Fudge, and Macnair exited the hut. Hermione froze, hands instinctively raised.

Dumbledore gestured toward something in the distance, distracting the others just long enough for them to slip away.

"Is it just me, or does Dumbledore always know what's going on?" Dahlia whispered.

"Oh, he knows," Hermione said knowingly. They hurried into the forest, Buckbeak trailing behind.

"What now?" Dahlia asked.

"Now we save Sirius," Hermione replied.

"And... how exactly do we do that?"

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "No idea."

Dahlia groaned. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

As they weaved through the forest, Dahlia glanced at the darkened grounds. "So, Hermione, what's the plan? Or are we improvising this entire operation?"

Hermione sighed, brushing a stray curl out of her face. "We wait until the coast is clear to get Sirius. But first, we need to make sure past us handles the werewolf situation."

Dahlia frowned. "You mean the situation where we almost got mauled? Lovely. My evening just keeps getting better."

They paused behind a cluster of trees near the Whomping Willow. Dahlia pointed toward the tunnel leading beneath its roots. "There goes Remus. And look—Snape's trailing him."

"Exactly as it happened," Hermione murmured. "Now we wait."

"Wait?" Dahlia groaned, leaning back against a tree trunk, her arms crossed. "Hermione, look at me. My dress is wrecked, my heels are sinking into the mud, and my nerves are shot. This isn't waiting; this is torture."

Hermione glanced at her impatiently. "It's not about comfort, Dahlia. We're here to save lives. Sirius's life, remember?"

Dahlia rolled her eyes and adjusted her muddy dress. "Fair point," she muttered, glancing down at her battered shoes. "But when this is over, you owe me a spa day. I'm talking full luxury, Hermione—pedicures, facials, the works."

"Honestly, Lia," Hermione began, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, "you spent, like, a few weeks of your summer alone discovering new things, and you act like you're some kind of spoiled princess."

Dahlia gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "I am offended, Hermione. How could you say that? And FYI, this dress? Absolutely gorgeous. And my heels?" She glanced down mournfully at her sinking feet. "Oh, how I'd miss them."

Hermione's lips twitched, and she shook her head fondly at Dahlia. "You're impossible."

Dahlia stood tall, wiping a speck of mud off her dress. "I may be impossible, but at least I have taste. Look at you—running around in muddy shoes like some kind of... of muggle."

"Oh, don't start, Lia," Hermione replied with a small, amused grin. "You're the one who insisted on heels tonight."

Dahlia waved a hand dismissively. "I was trying to look elegant, Hermione! I didn't even know this was going to happen I thought we were only going to accompany Hagrid! This is all your fault for dragging me on this wild goose chase."

"Yeah, well, you can thank me when we've saved Sirius." Hermione shot her a teasing look.

"Oh, I'll thank you. Once I've had my spa day and a nice glass of butterbeer. In that order."

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head again. "If we make it out of this in one piece, you might just get that wine... and maybe I'll even join you for a pedicure."

"Now you're talking," Dahlia said, offering a dramatic wink as they both settled into silence, waiting for the next phase of their plan.

As they waited, Dahlia's gaze drifted to Buckbeak, who was snapping at bats flitting too close. "At least someone's having fun."

Hermione hummed absently, her mind clearly elsewhere. Dahlia hesitated, then said softly, "Hermione, back by the lake, when I was with Sirius... I saw someone."

Hermione turned to her, curious. "Someone?"

"Someone who cast a Patronus. They drove the Dementors away," Dahlia explained, her voice quieter now. "I thought... I think it was my dad."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Dahlia, your dad—"

"I know he's dead, Hermione," Dahlia interrupted, her voice cracking slightly. "But I saw him. Or at least, I thought I did."

Hermione hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. We'll figure it out. Just... hold onto that thought."

Before Dahlia could respond, the distant sound of howling echoed through the forest. Both girls jumped to their feet.

"Here we go," Hermione whispered as they watched their past selves emerge from the Whomping Willow's vicinity.

The werewolf appeared, its glowing eyes locked on past Dahlia. Hermione didn't hesitate, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Awooo!"

Dahlia turned to her in disbelief. "What are you doing?!"

"Distracting him!" Hermione hissed, howling again.

The werewolf froze, turning its attention to the sound. It growled low and started stalking toward them.

"Great," Dahlia muttered, rolling her eyes. "Now it's coming for us."

"I didn't think that far ahead!" Hermione admitted, her voice rising in panic. "RUN!"

They bolted, ducking and weaving through the trees. Dahlia stumbled, cursing her heels yet again. "This is so not cool, Hermione!"

"Keep moving!" Hermione shouted.

They dove behind a tree, pressing themselves flat against the bark. The forest fell eerily silent.

"Is it gone?" Dahlia whispered.

Hermione peeked around the trunk—only to yelp as the werewolf loomed behind them.

"Oh, shit," Dahlia breathed, grabbing Hermione instinctively and shielding her with her arms. The werewolf lunged—only to be intercepted by Buckbeak, who screeched and struck it with his talons. The werewolf snarled but eventually retreated into the forest.

Both girls collapsed against the tree, panting.

"That... was so scary," Hermione said, her voice trembling slightly.

"Uncle Moony's really having a rough night," Dahlia added, shaking her head. She paused, noticing something in the distance. "Hermione, look!"

They sprinted toward the Black Lake, urgency driving their every step. The scene before them was haunting—above the shimmering, dark waters, Dementors swarmed like a sinister cloud, their icy aura palpable even from a distance.

On the ground nearby, past Dahlia and Sirius lay motionless, encircled by the looming, soul-sucking creatures. The Dementors moved closer, their skeletal hands reaching out, ready to deliver their dreaded kiss. The sight sent a shiver down present Dahlia's spine, her breath hitching as she clutched her wand tighter.

"This is horrible," Hermione whispered, gripping Dahlia's arm.

Dahlia's eyes searched frantically. "Don't worry. My dad will come. He'll cast the Patronus. Just watch."

"Lia," Hermione began carefully, "I don't think anyone's coming."

"No, he will!" Dahlia insisted, her voice rising. "He has to."

The reality of the situation hit her like a Bludger. Sirius was seconds away from the Dementor's Kiss. Past Dahlia was crumpling under the weight of despair.

Dahlia's jaw tightened as determination flashed in her emerald eyes. "Of course..." she murmured, stepping out from behind the trees.

"Dahlia, wait! What are you doing?!" Hermione hissed.

Dahlia raised her wand high, her voice clear and resolute. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Blinding silver light burst from her wand as a magnificent stag charged forward, scattering the Dementors. Dahlia's breath hitched as she watched her Patronus circle protectively around past Dahlia and Sirius.

Hermione emerged from hiding, staring in awe. "You did it. You really did it."

Dahlia lowered her wand, her chest heaving. "That... that wasn't my dad. It was me."

She turned to Hermione, her expression a mix of wonder and exhaustion. "I saved them."

Hermione nodded, her face breaking into a proud smile. "You did. And it was brilliant."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as the last of the Dementors fled. Then Hermione tapped Dahlia's shoulder. "Come on. We've still got to free Sirius."

"I guess you were right, Mione," Dahlia said thoughtfully, her voice carrying over the rushing wind as Buckbeak soared through the sky. "It wasn't my dad earlier—it was me. That explains why I saw myself conjuring the Patronus before I even knew I could do it. Because, well, I'd already done it. Does that even make sense?"

Hermione clung tightly to Buckbeak's feathers, her face pale. "No, not really!" she yelped as Buckbeak swooped lower, heading straight for the dark tower where Sirius was being held. "And I still don't like flying!"

Inside the cell, Sirius turned at the sound of wings and the sight of Buckbeak hovering outside his barred window. His eyes widened in shock.

"BOMBARDA!" Dahlia shouted, blasting the cell bars apart with a flick of her wand. Sirius staggered back, shielding himself from the debris. When he stepped forward, his face lit up in awe.

"Brilliant!" Sirius said, grinning. "You're definitely my goddaughter."

Dahlia smirked. "Yes, yes, I know. I'm amazing. But we don't have time to talk about how brilliant I am. We need to go. Now!"

Sirius didn't hesitate, clambering onto Buckbeak behind them. As the hippogriff soared back into the night, Sirius let out a whoop of delight, echoed by Dahlia. Hermione, however, still clung on for dear life, her terrified screams lost in the wind.

Once they landed in a secluded spot on the Hogwarts grounds, Sirius jumped off and turned to face the girls. His eyes sparkled with gratitude and pride.

"I will forever be grateful to both of you," he said, his voice earnest. "You've given me my life back."

Dahlia stepped forward, her expression softening. "I want to go with you."

Sirius crouched down, his hands resting on her shoulders. "One day, perhaps," he said gently. "But for now, my life will be too unpredictable. And besides, you're meant to be here."

Dahlia frowned. "But you're innocent! You shouldn't have to run."

Sirius smiled, a bittersweet look crossing his face. "And you know it. But for now, that knowledge will have to be enough. One day, Lia. I promise."

His hand cupped her cheek, his gaze searching hers. "I know a lot of people say you look like James—your father—with those striking features. Except for your eyes, of course."

Dahlia gave a small smile. "Mum's eyes. I hear that all the time."

Sirius shook his head. "You do look like James. He was your father, after all. But if you ask me, there's a light in you that reminds me of someone else. You're like your grandmother Effie in certain ways."

"Effie?" Dahlia tilted her head.

"Euphemia Potter," Sirius said with a fond smile. 

"Oh..." Dahlia's breath hitched as realization dawned upon her, a sudden warmth blooming in her chest. Her mind raced back to her father's journal, the faded ink and heartfelt words coming alive in her memory.

He had written about his mother with a tenderness that stood out even among his vivid tales of mischief and bravery. Mum, he'd called her, laced with love and admiration. She could almost hear his voice in her mind as she recalled the passages:

"Mum had a laugh that could light up the dreariest day, a sharp wit that left even Dad speechless, and a fierce, unyielding love that wrapped around us like armor. She was the heart of the Potter family."

Dahlia's fingers unconsciously brushed her cheek as if her father's words were a tangible connection to the grandmother she'd never known. He always spoke of her as if she were still alive in some way, she thought, her throat tightening. And now Sirius sees her in me?

The thought was both comforting and bittersweet. Her father's stories and Sirius's recognition felt like fragments of a family long gone, piecing themselves together around her. For a fleeting moment, she didn't feel so alone.

Her lips quirked into a small, wistful smile. Effie Potter... so much of you lives on in us, doesn't it?

"It's cruel that I spent so much time with your parents and so little with you. They would have adored you—especially Effie." He placed a hand over her heart. "Remember this, Lia: The ones who love us never truly leave us. You'll always find them here."

Dahlia swallowed hard, nodding.

Sirius climbed onto Buckbeak, pausing to look back at them. "Lily Evans would be proud of you—both of you," he said, his voice full of warmth. "You're smart, strong, and so much braver than you realize."

With that, Buckbeak launched into the air, leaving Dahlia and Hermione standing silently, their hearts full.

"We have to go!" Hermione urged, her voice breathless as they sprinted back to the infirmary.

They arrived just as Dumbledore was closing the doors behind him.

"Well?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"He's free. We did it," Dahlia said, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

"Did what?" Dumbledore asked lightly, as though he hadn't been entirely involved. "Goodnight."

He swept past them with a knowing smile, leaving Dahlia and Hermione exchanging bemused glances before slipping inside the infirmary.

Inside, their past selves had just vanished. Ron gaped at them from his bed, his face pale and confused.

"How—how did you get there?!" he stammered. "I was just talking to you over there, and now you're here!"

"What's he talking about, Lia?" Hermione asked, feigning ignorance.

Dahlia shrugged casually. "No idea. Honestly, Ron, how could someone possibly be in two places at once?"

Before Ron could respond, a familiar voice called out.

"Cara!"

Dahlia turned, startled. "Theo? What are you doing here?"

Theodore Nott strode in with his usual air of confidence, holding a small black container. "I heard you'd landed yourself in the infirmary—again. Honestly, can you try to stay out of here for at least one school term?"

"Well, I'm fine," Dahlia replied dryly, gesturing to her ruined shoes and torn dress. "Can't say the same for my outfit, though."

Theo smirked. "Tragic. Anyway, I came to deliver this." He held out the container to Ron.

Ron eyed it warily. "This better not be cursed, Nott."

"Relax, Weasley. You'll be thanking me in a moment," Theo said with a smirk.

Ron cautiously opened the container, his eyes widening in shock. "It's... Scabbers!"

"What?!" Dahlia exclaimed, snatching the container from Ron and peering inside. Her jaw dropped as she confirmed it. "Holy shit! Thank you, Theo!" Without thinking, she threw her arms around him in a quick hug.

Theo chuckled. "Shouldn't Weasley be the one hugging me?"

Dahlia flushed and stepped back awkwardly. "Sorry."

"Did I hear the headmaster leaving?" Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, her sharp eyes sweeping the room. "Am I allowed to look after my patients now? Mr. Nott, what are you doing here?"

"Just returning Weasley's rat," Theo replied smoothly. "Goodnight, Cara, Weasley, Granger."

He gave Dahlia a wink before walking out.

As Dahlia and Hermione quietly nibbled their chocolate under Madam Pomfrey's watchful gaze, a distant roar of fury echoed from above.

"What was that?" Madam Pomfrey asked, alarmed.

The angry voices grew louder, accompanied by heavy footsteps. Dahlia leaned forward, straining to hear.

"He must have Disapparated, Severus," a voice said sharply. "We should have left someone in the room with him."

"HE DIDN'T DISAPPARATE!" Snape's voice thundered. "YOU CAN'T APPARATE OR DISAPPARATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS HAS POTTER WRITTEN ALL OVER IT!"

"Severus—be reasonable—"

BAM.

The infirmary door burst open, and in stormed Snape, Fudge, and Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked as calm and amused as ever, Fudge was flustered, and Snape—well, Snape looked like he was about to explode.

"OUT WITH IT, POTTER!" Snape roared, pointing a shaking finger at Dahlia. "WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"Professor Snape!" Madam Pomfrey scolded. "Control yourself!"

"See here, Snape," Fudge began, trying to sound authoritative. "This door's been locked; they've been in here—"

"THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE!" Snape bellowed. "I KNOW IT!"

"Calm down, man!" Fudge barked.

Dahlia stood slowly, her emerald eyes blazing. "Can you shut up, you git? Honestly, your spit is flying everywhere—it's disgusting. And if anyone deserves a Dementor's Kiss, it's Pettigrew. Not Sirius."

Everyone froze as Dahlia reached into the container and pulled out the body-bound rat. With a sharp flick of her wand, she cast the spell to force the transformation. In a flash of light, Peter Pettigrew appeared, bound and trembling on the floor.

The room erupted in gasps.

"He—he's alive!" Madam Pomfrey whispered in disbelief.

"That's right," Dahlia said coldly. "Peter Pettigrew faked his death, framed my godfather, and served Voldemort. Minister, I expect Sirius Black to be granted the trial he was denied."

Fudge sputtered. "Miss Potter, you can't just demand a trial—there isn't enough evidence—"

"Oh, I'm not asking," Dahlia said icily, stepping closer. "I'm demanding. Sirius Black will get the trial he was denied twelve years ago. Or do you want it to go public that the Ministry threw an innocent man into Azkaban without a chance to defend himself?"

Fudge looked utterly defeated. "Very well," he muttered. "I'll discuss it with the DMLE."

"See that you do," Dahlia said sharply.

As the adults left, Ron and Hermione stared at Dahlia in stunned silence.

"Bloody hell, Lia," Ron muttered.

Hermione nodded. "That was... incredible."

Dahlia smirked, crossing her arms. "Someone's got to keep things interesting around here."

Chapter Text

The next morning, the Daily Prophet was abuzz with the revelation that Peter Pettigrew was alive. The headline screamed the news, and alongside it was an announcement that Sirius Black had surrendered voluntarily to ensure his trial would take place.

Dahlia, feeling a mix of hope and apprehension, made her way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. As she entered, her steps faltered. There stood Remus Lupin, packing his belongings.

"Hello, Prongslet," Lupin greeted her warmly, though his expression held a trace of melancholy. Dahlia's shock must have been evident, as Lupin gestured to the Marauder's Map spread out on his desk. "I saw you coming."

"I—Uncle Moony, what's going on?" Dahlia asked, her voice wavering as her eyes darted between him and the half-empty drawers.

"I've looked worse, believe me," Lupin said with a small, self-deprecating smile, noticing the concern etched on her face.

"You've been sacked," Dahlia said, more of a statement than a question.

"No, not sacked," he replied evenly. "I resigned."

"But why?" Dahlia demanded, stepping closer.

"It seems someone let slip the nature of my condition," Lupin said with a resigned sigh. "By this time tomorrow, parents will know, and the owls will start arriving. They won't want someone like me teaching their children."

"That's ridiculous!" Dahlia exclaimed, her fists clenching. "You're the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had. You can't just go!"

Lupin shook his head, his smile sad but resolute. He continued packing, carefully placing a stack of books into his worn suitcase.

From across the room, he glanced at her. "From what the Headmaster told me this morning, you saved a lot of lives last night, Lia. If I'm proud of anything I've done this year, it's how much you've learned. Tell me—about your Patronus."

Dahlia blinked. "How'd you know about that?"

"What else could have driven off the Dementors?" he said with a knowing smile.

So Dahlia told him everything, recounting the events by the lake. When she finished, Lupin was smiling again, though his eyes glistened with pride.

"A stag," he said softly. "Just like your father's Animagus form."

"Why the long face, Prongslet?" Remus asked gently, his warm, observant eyes scanning her expression.

Dahlia's lips quivered as her emotions threatened to spill over. "You're leaving," she said, her voice small.

Lupin crouched slightly to meet her gaze. "You should be happy, Prongslet. Sirius is going to be a free man. And by the end of this school year, you'll be out of the Dursleys' home for good. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

"Yes, but I won't get to have weekend walks with you anymore," Dahlia said, pouting despite herself.

Lupin chuckled and placed a hand on her shoulder. "This summer, you'll have all the walks you want—with Sirius along for the ride." He smiled warmly. "I'm so proud of you, Lia. Of everything you've learned and everything you've done."

"I'll miss you," she murmured, blinking back tears.

"You'll see me this summer," Lupin assured her. Then, with a teasing smirk, he added, "And since I'm no longer your teacher, I feel no guilt whatsoever about returning this to you."

Before Dahlia could ask what he meant, Lupin whispered, "Mischief managed," and handed her the folded Marauder's Map. Her eyes widened as she quickly stuffed it into her pocket, the weight of it both comforting and bittersweet.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Dahlia turned, startled, as Professor Dumbledore stepped inside.

"Your carriage is at the gates, Remus," Dumbledore said with a gentle nod.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Lupin said, lifting his suitcase and the now-empty grindylow tank.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as they flicked to Dahlia. "No need to see me off, Headmaster," Lupin added with a smile. "Miss Potter has kindly volunteered to escort me."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Goodbye, then, Remus," he said solemnly, offering his hand. Lupin adjusted his grip on the tank and shook it firmly.

As they walked toward the gates, Dahlia stayed quiet for a moment, the weight of everything pressing down on her. Finally, she broke the silence.

"You'd better keep your promise," she said, her voice trembling.

Lupin glanced at her with a warm, fatherly smile. "I will. Summer's just around the corner, Prongslet. And believe me, it'll be full of all the mischief we can manage."

She gave a weak laugh, wiping her eyes. "You'd better tell me everything about Sirius's trial."

"Every single detail," Lupin promised as they reached the gates.

As he turned to leave, Dahlia stood there, watching him until he disappeared from sight. 

The next day, Dahlia was on edge. Today was Sirius's trial, and while she could've gone, Sirius and Remus had insisted that she stay at Hogwarts, focus on her classes, and not get distracted. It was the hardest thing for her to accept, but she knew they were right. They wanted her to stay safe, especially with the trial looming.

Later that evening, after dinner, Dahlia found herself alone in the dorm. Hermione was still at the library, and Lavender and Parvati were likely gossiping downstairs in the common room. Dahlia sat on her bed, buried in her textbooks, trying to prepare for the upcoming exams, but her mind kept drifting back to Sirius. What was happening at the trial? Was he okay? Did he get the justice he deserved?

Suddenly, a loud pop echoed through the room, and Dahlia jumped, letting out a startled scream. She froze as a house-elf appeared before her, looking quite pleased with itself.

"Oh, it is great to meet you, Miss Dahlia Potter!" the elf squeaked enthusiastically, bouncing on its feet. "My name is Dipsy, the house-elf of Havre de Paix."

"The what now?" Dahlia blinked in confusion.

Dipsy ignored the question, nodding enthusiastically. "Nevermind that, Miss! Master Sirius and Master Remus asked Dipsy to give this to you," the elf said, holding out two letters and a small wrapped parcel.

Dahlia hesitated, looking at the elf. "Wait, how did you even get in here? I thought no one could apparate through the Hogwarts wards?"

"House-elves and wizards have different magics!" Dipsy replied proudly. "We can apparate in or out through Hogwarts ourselves, but we cannot bring a wizard along with us."

The elf seemed to be enjoying the conversation but soon added, "Dipsy must go now, Miss. It was a pleasure to meet you. Dipsy will see you this summer!" And with a final pop, the elf disappeared.

Dahlia stared at the space where the house-elf had been for a moment before turning her attention to the letters. She carefully opened it, her fingers trembling slightly.

Dear Prongslet,

This is Sirius. The trial went well. I also claimed my seats and claimed proxy of your seats—can't let Dumbledore get all the power now, right? Anyway, we are in Havre de Paix. It means 'Haven of Peace.' You'll love it here. Remus and I just have a bit of decorating to do, but we'll see you this summer. By the way, that other thing—it's a mirror. Well, a two-way mirror. That way, we can save our time from writing letters. Just say my name or Remus's, and it's like a phone call. I think that's what Remus and Lily used to call it back then. James and I used to use this when we had separate detentions.

Love, Sirius 

Dahlia couldn't help but smile at the letter, but her heart ached at the same time. She had missed them so much despite being away from them for only about a day or two. It was reassuring to hear that the trial had gone well, but she couldn't shake the worry from her mind.

Prongslet,

I hope this letter finds you well. Sirius is right—everything went well at the trial, and we're here in Havre de Paix, just like we talked about. It's peaceful here, and I think you'll love it when you live here. Sirius has already claimed proxy over your Wizengamot seats, and I have to admit, it's been strange not having you around. But I know this summer will make up for it.

I'm writing this letter not just to keep in touch, but to remind you of something. You've done more than I could ever ask. You've been strong, brave, and you've proven that family isn't just by blood. You've become a part of something much bigger, and I'm proud of you.

Keep that strength with you, Dahlia. You've got so much ahead of you, and I know you're going to accomplish everything you set your mind to.

Take care of yourself, and we'll see you soon.

With all my affection,
Remus

Dahlia wiped the tears from her cheeks, a small smile forming. Remus had a way of saying everything she needed to hear without even realizing it. She folded the letter and placed it carefully in her drawer, next to the other one from Sirius.

Her gaze shifted to the small parcel. She carefully unwrapped it, revealing the two-way mirror. It was smaller than she expected, round, and polished to a shine. 

Later that night, Dahlia murmured "Muffliato," the spell filling the room with a soft hum that kept any noise from leaking into the rest of the dormitory. She then whispered "Lumos," the gentle glow from her wand casting a quiet light around her, creating a cocoon of warmth and privacy. With the curtains drawn tight around her bed, she finally exhaled deeply, her thoughts racing.

Taking another steadying breath, Dahlia picked up the two-way mirror, her fingers lingering on its smooth surface. She raised it to her mouth, uncertain whether it would even work. "Sirius Black," she said softly, the name lingering in the air like a prayer. She stared at the reflection, waiting, not sure what to expect.

For a few moments, there was nothing but a faint hum of silence. Dahlia frowned, about to put the mirror down in frustration, when suddenly, a faint pop echoed through the room. The glass shimmered to life, and her heart skipped a beat as the reflection blurred before focusing. The familiar image of Sirius appeared, his grin wide and unmistakable.

"Prongslet!" Sirius's voice rang out, bright and full of energy. He looked a little disheveled, his hair tousled and a bit of stubble on his jaw, but his eyes were full of warmth, and his smile made Dahlia's chest tighten with affection. "I've been waiting for this."

Before Dahlia could respond, Remus's voice joined in, soft and steady, a gentle presence that made her heart settle. "Hey, Dahlia. How are you holding up?"

The sight of them both, so close to her, made the weight on Dahlia's shoulders feel a little lighter. She sat up straighter on her bed, trying to suppress the swirling emotions inside her.

"I'm alright," she said, her voice a bit quieter than she intended. "Just... worried. It's been a lot to process."

"Worried?" Remus's brow furrowed, his tone full of concern. He leaned forward slightly, his tired eyes studying her with care. "Why? Sirius and I are doing well here. We're just getting everything ready for you to join us this summer."

"I know," Dahlia replied softly, her fingers nervously tapping the edge of her bed. "But after everything that happened... the trial, the chaos with the dementors... I felt like I wasn't there when you both needed me most. I didn't want to leave you to face it alone."

Sirius's smile softened into something more sincere. "Prongslet," he said, his voice full of emotion, "you did your part. More than anyone could ask. You saved my life. I owe you everything, Dahlia."

The sincerity in his words caught Dahlia off guard. Her throat tightened, but she managed to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just wish I could have been there... with both of you. I wanted to be there."

Remus gave her a small, reassuring smile. "You were there," he said gently. "In spirit, in heart, you were with us. And you're still here with us now, no matter the distance. We're family, Dahlia. You never need to face anything alone."

Sirius leaned closer to the mirror, his grin returning, this time with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "And now that I'm free? There's nothing keeping us apart, Prongslet. I'll be seeing you very soon."

Dahlia laughed softly, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen down her cheek. "I can't wait."

Sirius's tone shifted, growing softer, more serious. "I know the past few years have been... tough for you," he said, his voice steady and full of understanding. "But things are different now. You're not alone, Dahlia. Not anymore."

"I know," she whispered, her heart aching with the truth of his words. "I'm just so glad you both are here. I don't know what I would've done without you."

Remus smiled warmly, his eyes full of quiet affection. "You'll never have to know. We've got you. And Sirius is right—this is just the beginning. We're family. Always."

The three of them sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of the words they had shared hanging between them. It was the kind of quiet that felt safe, familiar. Dahlia felt the connection to them deeply, as though, no matter the distance, they were always with her.

Finally, Sirius broke the silence, his grin returning to its usual mischievous form. "Alright, Prongslet, enough of the sappy talk," he said with a wink. "You've got exams to study for, don't you? Get to it! We'll be here when you're ready for more."

Remus added, his voice light with a teasing edge, "And don't forget, you've got a whole summer ahead to catch up with us. Plenty of time for all the conversations you want. We'll talk soon."

Dahlia smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude and warmth. "I'll see you both soon," she promised, her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

With a final wink from Sirius and a comforting smile from Remus, the mirror flickered and went dark, leaving Dahlia sitting there, a soft smile on her lips. 

The next morning, the Daily Prophet announced Sirius's release with bold headlines proclaiming his exoneration. Dahlia's heart swelled with relief, but that joy was short-lived. As her eyes scanned further down the page, she froze, her fist clenching around the paper.

Pettigrew Escapes During Transport to Azkaban.

Her knuckles whitened as she stared at the words, disbelief and anger bubbling up inside her. The image of the rat-like man haunted her thoughts, and Trelawney's chilling prediction echoed in her mind.

Later, she used the mirror to speak with Sirius and Remus, her frustration spilling out.

"I can't believe they let him escape! After everything—after everything we've done!" Dahlia said, pacing her dormitory.

"Dahlia, breathe," Remus's calm voice soothed. "We know how infuriating this is, but the important thing is that we'll deal with it together. Peter may have slipped away, but it doesn't erase what's been accomplished."

Sirius chimed in, his expression soft but firm. "Remus is right, Prongslet. We'll find him again, and this time, he won't get away. But for now, focus on what's in front of you. Exams, Hogwarts, and enjoying some peace—you've earned it."

She sighed, nodding reluctantly. "I just hate that he's out there."

"And he'll always be looking over his shoulder," Sirius said. "He's a coward, Dahlia. Remember that. His day will come."

The end of term arrived quickly, bringing exam results. Dahlia, Hermione, and Ron had passed every subject, with Dahlia and Hermione earning perfect O's. Dahlia was genuinely amazed Snape hadn't failed her out of spite. Still, his icy glares and twitching muscle near his mouth every time he saw her confirmed his feelings hadn't mellowed.

At the end-of-term feast, Gryffindor celebrated their victory in the Quidditch Cup and winning the House Cup for the third year in a row. Scarlet and gold draped the hall, and the Gryffindor table buzzed with noise and laughter. Dahlia basked in the joy, though her thoughts occasionally wandered back to Pettigrew and what his escape could mean.

As the feast ended and students began to pour out of the Great Hall, Dahlia found herself face-to-face with Theo Nott. His usually composed demeanor showed hints of nervousness as he approached her. A hush fell over the surrounding students, whispers erupting as they stopped to watch.

"Cara, you know I've had every intention of courting you," Theo said, his voice steady but earnest. "It took some effort to finalize this, but I wanted you to have it before the term ended."

From his pocket, Theo produced a small box and opened it to reveal a pendant—a delicate dahlia flower carved from dark onyx, set on a twisted black silver chain. The back bore the Nott family crest, and a tiny silver charm in the shape of a sealed letter hung beside it.

The students around them gasped, but Dahlia's focus was entirely on the intricate gift.

"Theo... this is beautiful," she murmured, her voice filled with awe.

"Only the best for you, cara mia," he said, his smirk softened by genuine affection.

She placed the necklace around her neck, her fingers lingering on the charm. "Thank you, Theo. I'll treasure it."

The whispers grew louder, but neither seemed to care as they parted ways with promises to write over the summer.

The next day, the day Dahlia returned from Hogwarts, King's Cross Station buzzed with the usual activity of travelers. Among the crowd, Sirius and Remus stood near the barrier to Platform 9 ¾, scanning for familiar faces.

Nearby, a couple whispered urgently, their anxious expressions catching Remus's attention.

"But Dan, I really want to see our girl get off the train," the woman said, wringing her hands. "We haven't been here the last two years since we were so busy."

"Yes, I do too, Em," the man replied with a sigh. "But we don't even know how to find this platform 9 ¾ place. It's like it doesn't exist."

Remus stepped closer with a warm smile. "Excuse me, are you heading to the Hogwarts Express platform?"

The couple's eyes brightened in relief.

"Yes! We're non-magical, you see, so we haven't the faintest idea how to get there," the woman said quickly.

"You're in luck," Sirius said with his usual easy charm. "We're headed there to pick up our goddaughter. Come along, we'll show you the way."

"Thank you so much," the man said, extending his hand. "I'm Daniel Granger, and this is my wife, Emma."

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Sirius, and this is my husband, Remus," Sirius replied, shaking their hands.

The Grangers' faces briefly registered surprise, but they quickly smiled warmly. Sirius and Remus led them toward the barrier, casually walking through, and the Grangers gasped as they entered the magical platform.

"This is incredible," Emma whispered, her gaze darting around the bustling scene.

Remus turned to them with a kind smile. "What's your child's name? I might know them—I was a professor at Hogwarts earlier this year before I resigned."

"Hermione," Emma said proudly.

Remus's face lit up. "Ah, Hermione Granger! A brilliant girl, truly remarkable. It's a pleasure to meet the parents of such an exceptional witch."

Daniel beamed. "Thank you. She's our pride and joy. It seems you really know her."

"Of course," Sirius chimed in. "She's our goddaughter's best friend. They're practically inseparable."

Emma's eyes sparkled with recognition. "Oh, so you must be Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Hermione mentioned you both. She was so thrilled for Dahlia when she told us about you gaining custody of her."

Daniel nodded in agreement. "We're glad Dahlia's finally away from those dreadful relatives of hers."

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look, their brows furrowing. Dahlia had told them her relatives were horrible, but she'd never gone into much detail.

"What exactly do you mean by 'dreadful'?" Remus asked cautiously.

Emma hesitated, then said gently, "It's not our story to tell, dear. Dahlia herself will have to share it with you."

Just then, the Hogwarts Express screeched into the station, steam billowing around the platform as students began pouring out. Among the crowd, Dahlia appeared, wearing one of her elegant dresses. She walked gracefully beside Hermione, neither noticing Sirius and Remus yet.

"I'll call about the World Cup!" Ron shouted after them as he wheeled his trolley toward his waiting family.

Dahlia's eyes lit up when she finally spotted Sirius and Remus. She broke into a run, throwing herself into Sirius's arms as he twirled her around.

"We missed you," Remus said softly, his eyes warm as Sirius set her back on the ground.

"I missed you both, too," Dahlia replied, her voice filled with genuine affection.

A cough drew her attention, and her smile widened. "Emma! Dan!" she exclaimed, rushing to hug the Grangers.

"Lia, sweet girl, how are you?" Emma asked, holding her at arm's length to look her over.

"I'm fine," Dahlia said, twirling slightly. "And this dress—thank you for it. It's beautiful."

"Of course, dear," Daniel said with a smile. "We'll let you catch up with your family, but you know where our house is if you want to visit."

With a final wave, the Grangers headed back through the barrier. Dahlia, Sirius, and Remus followed shortly after. As they stepped into the main station, they came face-to-face with Vernon Dursley.

The man's face turned an angry shade of purple as his beady eyes narrowed on Dahlia. "What on earth are you wearing, girl?" he barked.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Clothes?"

"Don't get smart with me. Come along now," Vernon said, his tone gruff.

"No, thank you," Dahlia replied calmly, stepping closer to Sirius and Remus. "I'm going with my godfather and my uncle."

Vernon's face contorted in confusion. "Godfather? You don't have a godfather—" His words faltered as his eyes landed on Sirius.

"You... you're that escaped convict!" Vernon stammered, his voice now trembling.

"Yes, that's me," Sirius said smoothly, his smile sharp. "And you'd do well not to test my patience, Dursley."

"Well, you'd better get your things from the house," Vernon said nervously.

Dahlia shrugged. "Burn them for all I care. I don't need anything from there." She turned on her heel, leaving with Sirius and Remus without a backward glance.

Meanwhile, Theo arrived home to his father's awaiting embrace. The familiarity of Nott Manor's grand yet cold halls felt heavier than usual as Vincent Nott led him to the study. Once inside, Vincent gestured for Theo to sit, his face uncharacteristically grim.

"Theodore, I have news," his father began, his voice low and deliberate. "Something may happen next year. The Dark Lord is stirring."

Theo's breath hitched. His father rolled up his sleeve, revealing the darkening of the once-faded Dark Mark etched into his skin.

Theo's eyes widened. "It's... it's back," he whispered, horror creeping into his voice. "Does this mean—?"

"It means war is on the horizon," Vincent interrupted, his tone sharp but not unkind. "And we must act. To ensure your safety, I've made arrangements for you to be bonded with Daphne Greengrass by the end of your fourth year."

Theo shot to his feet, the chair screeching against the polished floor. "No," he said, his voice trembling with defiance. "You promised Mother I'd never be forced into a marriage I didn't want."

Vincent sighed, his expression hardening. "This isn't about promises or wants, Theodore. It's about survival. The Greengrasses are neutral, powerful, and influential. Such an alliance will shield you when the time comes."

Theo's fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. "But I'm already courting someone."

Vincent's brows furrowed, his stern gaze locking onto Theo's. "Who?"

"It doesn't matter," Theo replied quickly, realizing too late how revealing his tone had been.

"Of course it matters," Vincent snapped. "Who is it, Theodore? Who has distracted you from your duty?"

Theo's jaw tightened, refusing to answer. Vincent's voice grew colder. "Then you will end it. Whatever infatuation you've indulged in, it ends tonight."

"No," Theo said, his voice firmer now, though his heart pounded in his chest. "I won't do it. I care about her."

Vincent's hand slammed down on the desk, making Theo flinch. "You will do as you're told, boy! This isn't a fairy tale. If the Dark Lord returns, there will be no room for disobedience. You think your feelings matter? You think they will protect you?"

"I'm not a pawn in your schemes!" Theo shot back, his voice rising. "I'm not like you."

Vincent straightened, his voice cold as ice. "No, you're not like me. You're weaker. And that weakness will get you killed unless you start acting like a Nott."

Theo's chest heaved as he struggled to contain his anger. "If this is about my safety, then maybe you should ask yourself why you're putting me in danger in the first place," he spat, storming toward the door.

"Theodore," Vincent called, his voice softer now, almost pleading. Theo stopped but didn't turn around. "Everything I do, I do for you. One day, you'll understand."

Without a word, Theo left the room, the heavy door closing behind him with a thud. Alone in the dim corridors of the manor, he felt like the walls were closing in, the weight of betrayal pressing down on him.

As they apparated onto the grounds, Sirius spread his arms wide with a triumphant grin. "Welcome to Havre de Paix!" he announced theatrically, as though revealing a grand treasure.

Dahlia staggered slightly, clutching her stomach. "I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered, swaying.

Sirius, unbothered, called out, "Dipsy!"

With a pop, the cheerful house-elf appeared, holding a silver bucket just in time for Dahlia to lean over and throw up.

Sirius and Remus exchanged amused looks, chuckling softly.

"Why are you laughing at my misery?" Dahlia groaned, wiping her mouth.

Remus patted her back gently. "Don't worry, Prongslet. It's like that for everyone's first time. Apparition takes some getting used to."

Sirius smirked. "You should've seen James. He turned green for a week after his first time."

"That is not comforting," Dahlia deadpanned, shooting them a glare.

"Miss Dahlia, welcome! Dipsy is so happy to see you again!" the house-elf squeaked, bowing deeply.

"Hello, Dipsy," Dahlia said weakly but with a small smile.

"Dipsy, could you take Dahlia's things to her room?" Sirius asked.

"Of course, Master Sirius!" Dipsy replied enthusiastically before vanishing with another pop, Dahlia's trunk in tow.

Remus looped an arm around Dahlia's shoulders. "Come on, let's get some dinner. Then we'll give you a proper tour of the manor."

After a hearty dinner filled with Sirius's playful anecdotes and Remus's calming reassurances, the trio began their tour of the sprawling manor.

"This," Sirius declared dramatically as they entered the west wing, "is your domain, Prongslet. Your room is right through here."

Dahlia stepped into the room, and her eyes widened in amazement. The space was warm and inviting, with Gryffindor banners hanging proudly on the walls. A cozy window seat overlooked the expansive gardens, and shelves were lined with books—some new, others worn with age.

On the vanity table, she noticed an array of delicate jewelry and ornate hairpins, shimmering under the soft glow of enchanted candles. She stepped closer, picking up a silver hairpin shaped like a stag.

"These were your mother's," Remus said quietly, coming up beside her.

Dahlia's throat tightened, but she managed a small smile. "They're beautiful."

Sirius nudged her gently toward another part of the room. "Wait till you see this!"

He opened the door to a walk-in closet filled with elegant dresses and shoes. Dahlia ran her fingers over the fabric, marveling at the craftsmanship.

"Some of these belonged to Lily," Remus explained, "and some were added by a very enthusiastic Sirius Black, who seems to think you need a wardrobe fit for a queen."

"Only the best for my goddaughter," Sirius said with a wink.

But what truly caught Dahlia's attention was a series of photographs on a nearby table. She picked up a framed picture of her parents dancing, both laughing, while a younger Sirius and Remus clapped along in the background.

"These..." Dahlia's voice cracked slightly. "Where did you find these?"

"We've been gathering them for the past weeks," Remus said softly. "We wanted you to have pieces of them here with you."

Sirius placed a hand on her shoulder. "You'll never be without family, Prongslet. Not here. Not ever."

Dahlia turned to look at them, her eyes brimming with tears. "Thank you. For everything."

Remus smiled, his voice warm. "This is your home now, Dahlia. And it always will be."

Sirius grinned, ruffling her hair. "Now, don't get too emotional on us. We've still got to show you the secret passageways!"

Dahlia laughed, wiping at her eyes. "Secret passageways?"

"Obviously! What kind of manor would this be without a little mischief built into it?" Sirius teased, leading the way with an exaggerated swagger.

Later that night, as Dahlia was getting ready for bed, there was a soft knock on her door. She turned toward it, brushing her hair aside.

"Come in," she said, her voice curious but steady.

The door creaked open, revealing Sirius and Remus. They both looked a little hesitant, their usual lighthearted demeanor replaced by something more serious. Sirius leaned against the doorframe, while Remus stepped inside, his expression soft but concerned.

"Prongslet," Sirius began, his voice unusually careful, "there's something we wanted to talk to you about."

Dahlia frowned slightly, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "Sure... what's on your mind?"

Remus exchanged a glance with Sirius before stepping closer. "You've mentioned before that your relatives were... horrible. And earlier today, the Grangers seemed to confirm it. We've been wondering—just how bad was it?"

Dahlia froze for a moment, her gaze dropping to her hands. She fiddled nervously with the hem of her sleeve, biting her lip.

Sirius noticed her hesitation and immediately added, "You don't have to tell us if you're not ready. We just—well, we're worried about you." His voice softened at the end, and he gave her a small, reassuring smile.

Dahlia exhaled slowly, looking back up at them. "No, it's okay. I guess... I have to talk about it eventually. Better now than later."

Sirius and Remus both sat down, Sirius perching on the armchair near her desk and Remus choosing the foot of her bed. They stayed quiet, giving her space to find her words.

She took a deep breath. "The Dursleys... they've always hated me. Ever since I can remember. They made sure I knew I wasn't wanted." Her voice faltered, but she pressed on.

"They made me sleep in a cupboard under the stairs until I was eleven. Called me a freak every chance they got. I never got the chance to eat properly—most of the time, I was given scraps, if anything at all. And the chores..." She trailed off, swallowing hard.

Remus's face grew pale, his jaw tightening. "A cupboard?" he repeated, his voice low, though not with anger at her.

Dahlia nodded, forcing a small, humorless laugh. "Yeah. It wasn't much, but at least it was mine, I guess."

Sirius's grip tightened on the armrest of the chair, his knuckles turning white. "They starved you? Made you sleep in a cupboard?" His voice was shaking now, his anger barely contained.

"They didn't care," Dahlia said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "As long as I stayed out of their way, it didn't matter what happened to me." She paused, her gaze falling to her hands, fidgeting in her lap. "But something happened last summer..."

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look, concern flashing across both their faces. "What happened?" Remus asked gently, his tone soft and encouraging.

Dahlia's eyes avoided theirs, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves. She hugged herself tightly, as if trying to hold together the pieces of herself that felt broken.

Chapter Text

TW: mentions of rape and abuse

"I... I was raped," Dahlia whispered, her voice breaking as she struggled to hold back tears.

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Sirius's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with fury as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Remus, sitting next to her, stiffened visibly, his normally gentle features marred by a deep scowl.

"Who?" Sirius demanded, his voice low and dangerous. His chair scraped back as he stood, his wand already in his hand. "Who dared—"

"Sirius," Remus interrupted, though his voice was no less tense. "Let her finish."

Dahlia's breathing hitched, and she buried her face in her hands. "It... it was Uncle Vernon. He—he was always cruel, but that summer... it got worse."

Sirius swore under his breath, pacing the room like a caged animal. "That miserable excuse for a human—he's lucky I wasn't there. I swear, Dahlia, he'll pay for this."

"Padfoot," Remus said warningly, though his tone was still laced with anger. He turned to Dahlia, his expression softening as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Lia, you're safe now. He can't hurt you anymore. Take your time. We're here to listen."

Dahlia nodded, her hands trembling as she wiped at her eyes. "It started after... after Dobby showed up and ruined that dinner party they were hosting. Vernon was furious about losing the deal and started taking it out on me. At first, it was just yelling, locking me in my room... but then..." Her voice cracked, and she couldn't continue.

"Go on," Remus encouraged gently. "Only if you feel ready."

Dahlia hesitated, but the understanding in Remus's gaze and the protective fire in Sirius's eyes gave her courage. "One night, he came into my room. He... he blamed me for everything, for his failures, for everything bad in his life. He was so angry. He..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

Remus inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening on her shoulder. "Dahlia," he said softly, "it wasn't your fault. None of it was. Do you understand me?"

Sirius stopped pacing abruptly, dropping to a crouch in front of her. His stormy gray eyes softened, though they still burned with anger on her behalf. He reached out but stopped short, his hands hovering uncertainly, respecting her boundaries. "Lia," he said gently, his voice steady yet charged with emotion. "You hear what Moony's saying? That piece of filth didn't deserve to breathe the same air as you, let alone be near you. What he did to you... It doesn't define you. You're strong, kid. You survived him. And you won't have to face this alone—not anymore. Not while we're here."

Dahlia's eyes welled up as she looked at him. "I... I know that now," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it's so hard. I felt so... broken. Like I couldn't ever be normal again, like I'd never feel clean or whole." Her voice cracked, and she looked down, twisting her fingers in her lap. "But Hermione... she didn't let me fall apart. Her and her parents, the Weasleys too—they helped me piece myself back together. They made me feel like I could start again."

Remus moved closer, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. He sat beside her, his voice soft but firm. "And they were right, Dahlia. What happened to you was horrific, and it's okay to not be okay sometimes. Healing isn't a straight line, but you are healing. Every tear you shed, every time you let someone in, it's a step forward."

Dahlia sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "I don't feel strong, though. I felt so powerless... so small. If it weren't for Mione coming for me, I don't know what would've happened. And then the Weasleys... they didn't even ask questions—they just cared. They just... loved me."

Sirius leaned closer, his gaze fierce yet filled with compassion. "That's because you are loved, Dahlia," he said, his voice steady but intense. "Deeply, fiercely loved. Never doubt that for a second. And as for feeling powerless?" He paused, his jaw tightening. "The fact that you're sitting here, sharing this with us, shows how much power you truly have. It takes courage, Lia. More than most people could ever imagine. You faced something unimaginable, and you're still standing. That's not just strength—it's extraordinary."

Dahlia's hands trembled in her lap, her emerald eyes shimmering with tears that she tried to blink away. Her lips quivered as she found her voice. "I just want to forget about it," she whispered, her voice raw and vulnerable. She hesitated before adding, "Every time I manage to forget, even for a moment, the world finds a way to remind me again. At Hogwarts, it's easier, with everything happening, the distractions... But the moment I get a second of peace, it all comes back. Like it's waiting for me."

Sirius's hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles white as he struggled to keep his anger in check. "It's not fair," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "It's not bloody fair that you have to carry this. If I could take it away, I would. In a heartbeat."

Remus, who had been quiet and thoughtful, leaned forward, his calm demeanor a soothing counterpoint to Sirius's stormy energy. "Dahlia," he said gently, "memories like this don't just disappear. But that doesn't mean they have to control you. They're a part of your story, yes, but they don't define who you are. You're more than what happened to you. Much more."

Dahlia looked up at him, her voice trembling. "But it feels like it does. Like no matter what I do, it'll always be there, lurking in the background, ready to take over."

Remus offered her a small, reassuring smile. "That's the thing about shadows—they can't exist without light. And you, Dahlia, have so much light in you. You've got a fire that's kept you going, even when everything seemed hopeless. The nightmares, the memories... they don't get to win. You do. And you won't have to fight alone. You've got us. You've got Hermione, the Weasleys... everyone who loves you."

Sirius reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he gently grasped hers. "And we'll fight with you, Lia. Tooth and nail. Whatever it takes, you'll get your peace back."

Dahlia's tears spilled over as she let out a shaky breath. "I don't even know how to start," she admitted, her voice cracking.

"You already have," Remus said softly. "By telling us. By letting yourself feel. That's the hardest part, and you've already done it. The rest... it'll come, bit by bit. And we'll be here for every step of it."

Sirius squeezed her hand gently but firmly. "You're not alone anymore, kid. And you never will be again. Not while we're around."

Dahlia sniffled, her heart heavy yet slightly lighter as she absorbed their words. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice fragile but sincere. 

Flashback: The Summer Before Second Year

The Dursleys had just placed bars on Dahlia's windows, a cruel reminder of her punishment. She sat on her bed, feeling the weight of the entire situation press down on her. It seemed the only thing she had left after the incident with Dobby—when the house-elf had dropped the pudding on Mrs. Mason, causing Vernon to lose the potential investment from the Masons. Dahlia had been blamed for it, even though it wasn't her fault.

The door suddenly burst open with a violent force, and Vernon stormed in, slamming the door shut behind him with a thud. He locked it with a click that sent a shiver down Dahlia's spine.

"You—YOU!" Vernon bellowed, his face red with fury. "Don't you know how much I needed that investment? Do you have any idea what you've cost me?"

Before she could even react, he lunged at her. Dahlia barely had time to brace herself as he struck her across the face again and again, his fists raining down with unrelenting force. Her head spun with each blow, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to shield herself.

"I'm sorry, Uncle, please!" Dahlia cried, her voice trembling. "It wasn't me... I swear, I didn't do it..."

But Vernon's fury was blind and merciless. His hand came down hard against her cheek, the sound ringing in her ears as she fell to the floor.

"You're nothing but a freak," he spat. "You bring nothing but trouble to this house. If it weren't for that school, you'd be rotting in an orphanage where you belong."

As she lay on the floor, trembling and clutching her cheek, Vernon loomed over her, the threat in his presence more terrifying than his words.

"You're lucky I don't throw you out on the street," he growled. "Now, get back in bed and don't make a sound, or you'll regret it." 

There was a sound of a belt unbuckling.

"No... no, please, not this," Dahlia gasped, her voice trembling as she realized what her uncle was about to do.

"Silence, you ungrateful little brat!" Vernon snarled, his face twisted in rage as he roughly tied the cloth around her mouth.

"Please... don't do this," Dahlia begged, her voice cracking, barely audible through the trembling cloth pressed against her lips. Her wide emerald eyes, glistening with unshed tears, pleaded more powerfully than her words ever could, shimmering with a mixture of fear and desperation. Her entire body shook, every fiber of her being silently willing for mercy, for this nightmare to end.

But her pleading was in vain; Vernon had already crossed the line, his actions irreversible. Vernon had forcibly taken off her clothes and had his way with Dahlia.

Dahlia lay trembling on the cold, unforgiving floor, every inch of her body aching. The muffled sound of Vernon's heavy footsteps faded down the hall, followed by the sharp click of the lock. The finality of it echoed in her mind, a grim reminder of her isolation.

She curled into herself, hugging her knees to her chest, her slender frame wracked with shivers—not just from the cold but from the overwhelming weight of pain and humiliation. The tears came relentlessly, hot and stinging, mingling with the blood trickling from her bruises. She wiped at her face instinctively, smearing crimson across her pale skin, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

"Why does it always have to be me?" Dahlia whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her sorrow. Her words were swallowed by the oppressive silence of the room, a silence that seemed to mock her despair.

The walls seemed to close in, their shadows growing darker, heavier. Her chest tightened as shame and anger warred with helplessness in her mind. Hugging herself tighter, she rocked slightly, a feeble attempt to comfort the fractured pieces of her soul.

"Just make it stop," she murmured to no one, her voice barely audible, breaking apart like her spirit. Her emerald eyes, dulled by suffering, stared blankly at the room that had become her prison.

Through the haze of her thoughts, she caught sight of a faint beam of moonlight filtering through the bars on her window, casting fragile lines across the floor. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the world outside was reaching out to her, reminding her that something else existed beyond these walls. But even that sliver of hope felt impossibly far away.

She buried her face in her arms, her quiet sobs filling the darkness. The room felt colder, heavier with every passing second, as Dahlia clung to the fragile thread of her existence, waiting for the endless night to pass.

Three days later, the Dursleys showed no sign of relenting. Dahlia lay on her bed, staring at the setting sun as it sank behind the bars on her window. The once vibrant light felt mocking, casting long shadows across her room. She sighed, her thoughts swirling with hopelessness. What was the point of trying to escape if Hogwarts would just expel me for magic?

Her situation had hit an all-time low. Without the threat of fruitbat transformations or magical retribution, she'd lost the only semblance of power she'd held over her relatives. Dobby may have stopped the "horrible happenings at Hogwarts," but at this rate, I'll starve to death before the term starts, she thought bitterly.

The sound of the cat flap rattling pulled her from her thoughts. Aunt Petunia's bony hand shoved a chipped bowl of cold, congealed soup through the opening. Dahlia, her stomach gnawing with hunger, scrambled off the bed and seized it.

The soup was stone cold, but she gulped it down in a single breath, not caring about the taste. As she reached the soggy vegetables at the bottom, she crossed to Hedwig's cage and tipped the remnants into her owl's dish.

Hedwig ruffled her feathers and shot her a look of disdain.

"It's all we've got, Hedwig. Don't give me that look," Dahlia said grimly. She set the empty bowl by the flap and slumped back onto her bed. Exhaustion crept in, mingling with the ache in her stomach. She stared at the bars on the window, imagining all the ways her life could spiral further if no one came to help her.

What happens if I don't show up at Hogwarts? she thought. Would they send someone? Would they even care enough to check?

As the room darkened, she drifted into a restless sleep. Her dreams turned cruel—she was on display at a zoo, labeled "Underage Witch." Strangers gawked at her through bars as she lay weak and helpless. Dobby's face flickered in and out of the crowd, shouting, "Dahlia Potter is safe there!" before vanishing. Dudley rattled the cage bars, laughing, while Uncle Vernon bellowed in the background.

She woke with a jolt, her body trembling, and realized tears were streaming down her face. The helplessness from the dream lingered, pressing heavy on her chest. Suddenly, a bright light outside her window pierced the darkness. She scrambled to her feet and squinted at the source. Her heart leapt when she recognized the enchanted blue Ford Anglia.

"Ron? Fred? George?" she whispered hoarsely, opening the window as far as the bars would allow.

"Who else?" Ron grinned from the passenger seat. "We're here to rescue you!"

Fred leaned out of the driver's side. "Tie this rope around the bars," he said, tossing her one end.

Dahlia hesitated, glancing nervously toward the Dursleys' room. "If they wake up, I'm dead," she whispered.

"Not on our watch," George reassured her. "We'll be gone before they even notice."

Her fingers trembled as she tied the rope around the bars, the knot tightening with every turn. Fred revved the car, and with a deafening CRUNCH, the bars wrenched free of the window.

Dahlia flinched at the sound, her heart pounding, but the house remained silent. She peeked into the backyard, where the bars now dangled like a broken gate.

Fred grinned. "One step closer to freedom. Get in!"

"But all my Hogwarts stuff... my wand, my broomstick—they're in the cupboard under the stairs," Dahlia said quickly.

"Say no more," George replied. "We've got it covered."

He and Fred climbed into the room, moving with surprising stealth. George pulled a hairpin from his pocket and began picking the lock on her door.

"I told you these Muggle tricks would come in handy," Fred whispered as George worked.

"Skills worth learning, even if they're not the fastest," George muttered, and with a small click, the door swung open.

"Grab what you need from your room and pass it out to Ron," Fred instructed. "We'll get the rest."

Dahlia quickly gathered her belongings, shoving books and loose parchment into her arms. She handed them to Ron through the window, who stacked everything neatly in the back seat.

Meanwhile, Fred and George crept down the stairs. Dahlia's warning about the creaky bottom step earned her a thumbs-up from George before they disappeared into the dark hallway. Moments later, they returned with her trunk and broomstick.

"Let's move!" Fred whispered.

Together, they heaved the trunk through the window. The muffled sound of Uncle Vernon coughing sent shivers down Dahlia's spine, but the Weasley twins remained calm, hauling the trunk into the car with Ron's help.

"Your turn, Lia," Ron urged.

As Dahlia climbed onto the windowsill, a loud screech echoed through the room. She froze.

"HEDWIG!" she hissed.

She darted back for her owl's cage as Uncle Vernon's booming voice roared, "THAT RUDDY OWL!"

The door burst open, and Vernon lunged at Dahlia, grabbing her ankle. She screamed, thrashing against his grip.

"PETUNIA! SHE'S GETTING AWAY!" Vernon bellowed.

"Pull!" Ron yelled from the car.

The twins grabbed Dahlia's arms and yanked with all their strength. Vernon's grip loosened, and Dahlia slipped free, tumbling into the back seat. Ron slammed the door shut, and Fred floored the gas pedal.

The car shot into the night sky, the rooftops of Privet Drive shrinking below them. Dahlia pressed her forehead to the window, relief washing over her as the cool air whipped her face.

"You're safe now, Lia," Ron said gently.

"Let Hedwig out," Dahlia whispered, her voice shaking. "She needs to stretch her wings."

George handed Ron the hairpin, and seconds later, Hedwig soared out the window, her white feathers gliding ghostlike in the moonlight.

Ron turned to Dahlia, concern etched on his face. "What happened to you? You haven't been answering our letters, and... that bruise..." He reached for her cheek, but Dahlia flinched, shrinking back.

"Don't touch me," she murmured, her voice trembling. "I... I'll explain later. Maybe."

The car fell silent, save for the hum of the engine and the soft flutter of Hedwig's wings beside them. 

"That's the main road," said George, leaning forward to peer through the windscreen. "We'll be there in ten minutes ... just as well, it's getting light..."

A faint pink glow spread along the horizon, and the edges of a brilliant red sun began to creep over the landscape. Below them lay a patchwork of fields, bordered by hedgerows, and clusters of trees.

"We're just outside the village now," said George, pointing ahead. "Ottery St Catchpole."

Fred gradually brought the car lower, careful not to jostle their exhausted passenger. "Hold on—coming in for a landing," he said, flashing a grin back at Dahlia.

With a soft bump, the car touched down in a small yard beside a tumbledown garage. Dahlia gazed out at the house for the first time.

It was like nothing she had ever seen—crooked and whimsical, it looked as if a child had drawn it in a fit of imagination and someone had built it exactly as drawn. Rooms jutted out at odd angles, chimneys sprouted in a chaotic cluster, and the roof sagged in places as though held up by magic (which, Dahlia reminded herself, it probably was). A weathered sign near the entrance read The Burrow.

Around the front door lay a clutter of wellington boots, a rusty cauldron, and what looked suspiciously like a basket full of gnome traps. Fat brown chickens scratched and pecked their way across the yard, clucking lazily in the early morning light.

"It's not much," said Ron hesitantly, glancing at her expression.

"It's brilliant," Dahlia said with genuine enthusiasm, her lips curving into a small but real smile. Compared to Privet Drive, it was heaven.

They climbed out of the car, and Fred motioned towards the house. "Right," he whispered conspiratorially, "we're going to sneak upstairs, nice and quiet. When Mum calls us for breakfast, Ron, you come bounding downstairs all casual-like, saying, 'Mum, look who turned up in the night!' She'll be so pleased to see Lia, she'll forget to ask questions."

"Brilliant plan," said George, nodding.

Dahlia hesitated. "Are you sure she'll be okay with me being here? I don't want to cause any trouble—"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ron said firmly. "Mum's been worried sick about you—she'll be over the moon to see you. Just wait and see."

Fred opened his mouth to add something reassuring, but his face suddenly paled. "Oh... well, speaking of Mum..."

All four turned toward the house to see Mrs. Weasley storming across the yard, her floral apron fluttering like a battle flag. Despite her small stature, she looked positively ferocious, scattering chickens in her wake.

"Ah," said Fred faintly.

"Oh dear," muttered George, stepping instinctively behind his twin.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, hands on her hips and her sharp gaze bouncing from one guilty face to the next.

"So," she said with deceptive calm, her voice like the quiet before a storm. "Beds empty! No note! Car gone—out of my mind with worry! Do you have any idea—"

"Mum—" George began in his most placating tone.

"Don't you 'Mum' me!" she thundered. "You could've died! You could've been seen! You could've lost your father his job! What were you thinking—"

"We had to!" Fred burst out. "You didn't see—"

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!" she shouted, jabbing a finger into his chest. "We've never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy—"

"Perfect Percy," Fred muttered under his breath.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed, rounding on him again. "You—"

Her tirade paused abruptly as her eyes landed on Dahlia, who had been standing nervously behind Ron, trying to disappear into the background.

"And you, Dahlia, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, her tone softening immediately. "Come in, love. You must be starving. Let's get you some breakfast."

Dahlia blinked, stunned by the sudden shift. She glanced at Ron, who gave her an encouraging nod. Slowly, she followed Mrs. Weasley into the house.

The kitchen was small but bursting with warmth and character. A scrubbed wooden table sat in the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs. The clock on the wall had a single hand and no numbers, its face labeled with things like Time to make tea, You're late, and Chickens need feeding. Stacks of books on magic and cooking cluttered every available surface.

Dahlia sank cautiously into one of the chairs, her fingers fidgeting nervously in her lap.

"You're safe now," Mrs. Weasley said gently as she bustled around, pulling out pans and ingredients. "Arthur and I were just saying last night that if we didn't hear from you by the end of the week, we'd come to fetch you ourselves."

Dahlia managed a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

Mrs. Weasley waved her wand at the stove, and sausages began frying themselves with a cheerful sizzle. "No thanks needed, dear. You're family now."

Fred, George, and Ron shuffled in behind her, their expressions sheepish.

"They were starving her, Mum!" George said defensively, nodding toward Dahlia.

Mrs. Weasley turned a sharp glare on her sons. "And you thought the solution was to STEAL AN ILLEGAL FLYING CAR?" She pointed her wand at the sink, where the dishes began washing themselves furiously.

"Cloudy night, Mum!" Fred protested. "No one saw—"

"You keep that mouth shut while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, though her anger seemed to falter as she slid a plate heaped with sausages, eggs, and toast in front of Dahlia.

"There you are, dear. Eat up. You're too thin by half." She reached out as if to pat Dahlia's shoulder.

"Please don't touch me," Dahlia said quietly, her voice trembling.

Mrs. Weasley froze, her hand hovering midair. Her face softened, a flicker of understanding crossing her expression. "Of course, dear," she said gently, retreating a step.

Dahlia glanced down at her plate, swallowing the lump in her throat. She forced herself to take a bite, the warmth of the food beginning to chase away the chill that had settled over her in Privet Drive.

"We'll talk later," Ron murmured quietly, sitting beside her. "Whenever you're ready."

Dahlia nodded, her grip on her fork tightening as she blinked back tears. 

"I... I want to see Mione... please," Dahlia said hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Weasley's face softened. "Of course, dear. After breakfast, we'll floo to her house and see if she's free to visit today."

Dahlia nodded, relief mingling with exhaustion as she picked at her breakfast.

Mr. Weasley joined them midway through the meal, offering Dahlia a kind smile as he settled into his seat. The chatter of the Weasley family swirled around her, but she remained quiet, the warmth of their home slowly beginning to thaw the ice that had settled inside her.

True to her word, as soon as breakfast was cleared, Mrs. Weasley led Dahlia to the fireplace. She crouched by the hearth, tossing in a pinch of floo powder and calling out, "Granger residence!" The green flames roared to life, and Mrs. Weasley's head disappeared into the fire.

Dahlia sat on the edge of her seat, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. After a few moments, Mrs. Weasley reappeared, brushing soot off her hands. "She'll be here in just a moment, dear," she said with a reassuring smile.

The flames roared again, and out stepped Hermione, brushing ash from her clothes. She froze the moment her eyes landed on Dahlia.

"Lia..." Hermione's voice trembled with concern as she took in her friend's appearance—pale, bruised, and fragile in a way she had never seen before. "What happened?"

"Mione, he—he..." Dahlia's words faltered, her throat tightening. She couldn't force the rest of the sentence out. Her hands trembled in her lap, and her eyes welled with unshed tears.

Hermione's expression softened, her usual sharp gaze turning gentle and full of understanding. "Can I touch you?" she asked softly, not moving closer without permission.

Dahlia hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod.

Hermione stepped forward carefully and wrapped her arms around Dahlia. At the first touch, Dahlia stiffened, but as Hermione's hug remained gentle and comforting, Dahlia broke down, sobbing into her friend's shoulder.

"It's okay," Hermione whispered, holding her close. "You're safe now. I'm here."

Mrs. Weasley stood a few steps away, her hands pressed over her mouth, looking as though she might cry herself. Fred, George, and Ron watched from the kitchen doorway, uncharacteristically silent.

After a while, Dahlia's sobs subsided into quiet sniffles. Hermione pulled back slightly, brushing a stray tear from Dahlia's cheek with a gentle hand.

"Do you want to stay here?" Hermione asked softly, glancing around the bustling house filled with noisy boys.

Dahlia shook her head, her voice barely audible. "I... I can't, Mione. Not right now. It's too much..."

Hermione nodded in understanding and turned to Mrs. Weasley. "Would it be alright if she stayed with me for a while? Just until she feels ready?"

Mrs. Weasley wiped her eyes and smiled warmly. "Of course, dear. Whatever she needs. Dahlia, you're always welcome here, but if being with Hermione makes you feel safer, that's what we'll do."

Ron stepped forward, his face full of worry. "Lia," he said softly, "write me, yeah? Just... let me know you're alright."

Dahlia managed a weak smile. "I promise, Ron."

Not long after, Hermione led Dahlia to the floo, helping her step into the swirling green flames.

The Granger house exuded a sense of calm, its cozy warmth a soothing balm to Dahlia's frayed nerves. She sat curled up on the plush sofa, a soft blanket draped over her lap. The cup of hot chocolate in her hands sent tendrils of warmth through her fingers, though her grip on it was still a little shaky. The faint aroma of cinnamon lingered in the air, and the gentle hum of a clock ticking in the corner was the only sound, a comforting contrast to the chaos she had recently endured.

Mrs. Granger crouched down in front of her, her kind eyes filled with genuine concern. "You can stay as long as you need, dear," she said softly. "This is your home for as long as you want it to be. If you need anything—anything at all—we're just in the next room."

Dahlia met her gaze, her throat tightening with emotion. "Thank you," she managed, her voice trembling but sincere.

Dr. Granger, standing nearby, gave her a reassuring smile. "And don't hesitate to ask if there's something specific that might help," he added gently. "We're here for you."

As the adults retreated to the kitchen to give the girls some privacy, Hermione settled down beside Dahlia, folding her legs underneath her. She placed a comforting hand lightly on Dahlia's knee, her touch steady and reassuring. "You don't have to say anything until you're ready," Hermione said softly, her voice as gentle as a whisper. "No rush. No pressure. Just take your time."

Dahlia glanced sideways at her best friend, a small, fragile smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Thanks, Mione," she murmured, leaning into Hermione's side as though seeking a shield against the memories threatening to overwhelm her.

Hermione shifted slightly, wrapping an arm around Dahlia's shoulders. "You're safe here, Lia. You're not alone anymore. I promise."

The words hit Dahlia like a wave, washing over her and melting away some of the fear that had gripped her for so long. She allowed herself to lean further into Hermione's embrace, her head resting lightly against her shoulder. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt like she could exhale.

The two of them sat in silence for a while, the quiet companionship speaking volumes. Finally, Dahlia spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "It feels strange... being here. Like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like I'll wake up, and it'll all have been a dream."

Hermione tightened her arm around her. "It's not a dream. You're here, and you're safe. No one can hurt you now. Not while I'm around."

Dahlia let out a shaky laugh, a bittersweet sound that was part disbelief and part gratitude. "You always were the brave one, weren't you?"

Hermione smiled, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "We're brave for each other. That's how we get through this, Lia. Together."

Present Day

Dahlia finished recounting the memory, her voice trembling and uneven, as though the very act of speaking it had worn her thin. Her hands twisted in her lap, a subconscious attempt to steady her breathing. Sirius had stopped pacing mid-step, his body locked in place as the words sank in. His face paled, a fierce, uncontrollable anger taking root in his chest. His fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white, and his voice, when it came, was a dangerous growl.

"I'll kill him," he snarled, his eyes burning with an intensity that made the room feel smaller, as if the very air itself had thickened under the weight of his fury. "I'll make him pay for every moment you suffered. Every single one."

"Sirius," Remus interjected, his voice sharp with authority, though it was clear his own anger simmered beneath his calm exterior. He placed a firm, yet calming hand on Sirius's arm, but his gaze never left Dahlia. "We'll make sure he never comes near you again. You're safe now, Dahlia. And you're not alone. We'll get through this—together."

Dahlia's shoulders sagged with a quiet sigh, the tension she'd carried for so long loosening ever so slightly. "I... I've moved on from it, mostly," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "But sometimes... I still get nightmares. It feels like it's always lurking, waiting to remind me of everything." She paused, wiping away the fresh tear that threatened to spill. "But really, thank you. Both of you. For listening. For believing me."

Sirius crouched in front of her, his stormy gray eyes softening, though the fire within him still burned fiercely for her. "Lia," he said, his voice much steadier now, "you don't have to thank us for being here. That's what family does. And you are family—whether you like it or not," he added, offering a small, wry grin, trying to lighten the moment.

Dahlia let out a shaky laugh, her lips trembling but the sound genuine. It felt like the first time in ages she'd laughed without feeling guilty for doing so.

Remus sat beside her, his calm presence a quiet anchor. He placed a gentle hand on her arm. "You're incredibly brave for sharing this, Dahlia," he said softly. "And those nightmares? They don't mean you haven't moved on. Like I said, healing isn't a straight line—it's okay to still feel the weight of it sometimes. What matters is that you're not carrying it alone anymore."

Dahlia looked between them, her heart heavy but lighter than it had been moments before, the burden of the past not quite as suffocating. "You really mean that?"

"Of course," Sirius said immediately, without a hint of hesitation. "If you ever need anything—day or night—you come to us. No questions asked."

"And we'll be here," Remus added with a warm, reassuring smile. "Every step of the way. You don't have to carry this alone anymore, Dahlia."

Dahlia nodded slowly, her throat tight but the beginnings of trust blooming in her chest, a tentative relief starting to ease the weight of the past. "I don't think I could've told anyone else. I've always felt like I had to carry this alone."

"Not anymore," Sirius said firmly, his voice full of conviction. He reached out, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, a silent promise. "You've got us now. And we're not going anywhere."

Chapter Text

The next day, Dahlia joined Remus and Sirius for a long-awaited walk through the serene fields surrounding Havre de Paix. True to its name, the place was a haven of peace, nestled in a panoramic landscape with a clear, sparkling lake. The manor itself, warm and inviting, was a dream home—cozy, quiet, and brimming with life.

The trio strolled leisurely, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers as the lake shimmered under the morning sun.

"So, how are you both settling in here?" Dahlia asked, looking between the two men with a curious smile.

"It's been good," Remus replied, his voice calm as ever. "Quiet, just the way we like it. And Sirius—well, he's been having regular sessions with a mind healer."

Sirius groaned loudly, throwing his hands into the air. "Oh, don't start, Moony. I'm already mad enough as it is."

"Which is precisely why you need it," Remus quipped, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "After all, spending over a decade in Azkaban didn't exactly improve your mental state. Not that you weren't mad to begin with."

Sirius rolled his eyes in exaggerated annoyance. "Mad? I prefer the term eccentric."

As they continued their walk, Sirius's gaze shifted to the delicate pendant hanging around Dahlia's neck. His brows furrowed in curiosity.

"You know, Prongslet," Sirius began, tilting his head as he studied it, "I couldn't help but notice that necklace of yours. You weren't wearing it last time we met. Is it new?"

Dahlia flushed slightly, her fingers instinctively brushing the pendant. "Oh, um... yes. It was a gift."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "From who?"

"Theo," Dahlia admitted, her cheeks deepening in color.

Sirius froze mid-step. "Theo? As in Theodore Nott? Someone is courting you?!" His voice rose in pitch, and he clutched his chest dramatically. "No, no, no, this cannot be! I swore to James that I'd keep you away from boys. Oh, brother, I've failed you!" He stumbled back, draping himself against Remus's shoulder like a man defeated.

"Oh, hush, Sirius," Remus said, rolling his eyes but smiling fondly. "For what it's worth, I think Mr. Nott has good intentions for our little Prongslet."

"You knew about this?!" Sirius exclaimed, spinning around to face him.

Remus shrugged. "Not exactly, but I had my suspicions back when I was still teaching. Hogwarts gossip reaches even the professors, you know."

"And you didn't stop him from pursuing her?" Sirius demanded, scandalized. "How could you let this happen?"

Remus chuckled softly. "Unlike you, I didn't make a dramatic promise to Lily and James to keep all boys away. I only interfere when someone has bad intentions."

"Hmph!" Sirius crossed his arms, pouting like a petulant child. "Well, if you won't protect her virtue, I suppose I'll have to give her the talk."

Dahlia's eyes widened in horror. "Nope! Absolutely not!" She shook her head vehemently. "I already survived that awkward lecture from Emma and Dan. I am not going through it again."

Sirius smirked, leaning closer. "Oh, but it's different when I do it. I'll even throw in some war stories for context!"

Remus stifled a laugh. "Please spare the poor girl, Padfoot."

Dahlia groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "Why did I agree to this walk?"

"Because you love us," Sirius replied smugly, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

Despite herself, Dahlia laughed.

Later that afternoon, Dahlia sat in the cozy drawing room, curled up with a book. Remus was seated nearby, engrossed in his own reading, occasionally sipping a cup of tea. The warmth of the fire crackled gently, filling the room with a soothing ambiance. They were waiting for Sirius, who was finishing up his session with the mind healer in the study.

After a while, the door creaked open, and Sirius emerged, escorting the mind healer to the Floo. With a few polite words of farewell, the healer disappeared in a swirl of green flames. Sirius turned back, brushing his hands off dramatically.

"Well?" Remus asked, setting his book aside as he walked over to Sirius, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "How did it go?"

Sirius smiled, his expression a mix of relief and pride. "It went well. The healer said I'm making good progress, and if things keep improving, we might be able to end the sessions by next year."

"That's wonderful, Sirius," Dahlia said warmly, looking up from her book. "I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you, Prongslet," Sirius replied with a soft smile. After a moment's pause, he added hesitantly, "You know, Lia, if you ever want to speak with a mind healer, we can arrange that for you. No pressure, of course. Just... it might help."

Dahlia hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the book in her lap. "I... I don't know, Sirius. It's a lot to think about."

"That's okay," Remus said gently, his reassuring smile reaching his eyes. "Take your time, Dahlia. There's no rush, and no one's going to push you."

Sirius nodded, his gaze softening. "Just know it's an option, yeah? Whenever you're ready."

Dahlia managed a small smile. "Thanks, Sirius. I'll think about it."

Later that evening, the trio traveled by Floo to Longbottom Manor. Augusta Longbottom, ever the gracious host, had invited them for dinner, eager to catch up. As they arrived, Dahlia stumbled ungracefully out of the fireplace, coughing slightly as she tried to regain her footing. Neville hurried over, helping her steady herself.

"Honestly, Dahlia," Augusta began, hands on her hips, though her tone was more amused than scolding, "you should have sent me your permission slip to sign. I can't believe you missed out on Hogsmeade weekends. And you, Neville!" She turned to her grandson, arching a brow. "Why didn't you tell me she needed one?"

Neville scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "It slipped my mind, Gran."

Dahlia waved it off with a laugh. "It's fine, really, Auggie. I didn't mind staying at Hogwarts, especially with Uncle Moony there to keep me company."

Augusta raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by their excuses, but before she could press the matter further, her expression softened. "Well, as long as you weren't too lonely. But I hear some interesting news about you, young lady."

Dahlia blinked in surprise. "Oh?"

"The Nott heir, I hear, is courting you," Augusta said with a knowing glint in her eye.

Dahlia's cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. "Yes, he is," she admitted shyly.

Augusta hummed thoughtfully, nodding her approval. "Good choice. I've always had a soft spot for that boy. Polite, well-mannered. A bit broody, perhaps, but that seems to be a pattern with you lot," she added with a pointed glance at Sirius and Remus.

Sirius opened his mouth to retort, but Augusta didn't give him the chance.

"Say, why don't the three of you stay the night? It's been too long, Sirius. We've got plenty of room, and there's a lot to catch up on."

"Oh, that's very kind, Auggie, but we wouldn't want to impose—" Sirius started.

"No buts!" Augusta cut him off, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I insist. Besides, Sirius, you and I have plenty of stories to swap. Don't think you're sneaking out of it."

Remus smirked as Sirius sighed dramatically. "Looks like we're staying, then," Sirius muttered, though his grin betrayed his fondness for the Longbottom matriarch.

Dahlia giggled, glancing at Neville. "Looks like we're stuck here."

Neville smiled back, his gaze warm. "Could be worse. Gran does make excellent tea."

Dahlia nodded, already feeling at home amidst the warm banter and familial camaraderie.

Later in the evening, as the adults chatted animatedly in the sitting room, Dahlia and Neville found themselves tucked away in a quieter corner, a plate of treacle tart between them. Dahlia took a bite, savoring the sticky sweetness, while Neville picked at a piece of shortbread.

"So," Neville began, glancing at her with curiosity. "How are things with Nott?"

Dahlia flushed slightly, brushing a crumb off her lap. "We're fine. Though..." She hesitated, frowning. "He didn't respond to my last letter. My guess is he's just busy."

Neville nodded thoughtfully. "Probably. You know how life can get for some of the Slytherin crowd. Family expectations and all that."

"True," Dahlia admitted. "Still, I can't help but wonder if everything's okay."

"I'm sure it is," Neville said with a reassuring smile. "He's not the type to ignore you without a good reason."

Dahlia smiled, appreciating the comfort. "Thanks, Nev. Always the voice of reason, aren't you?"

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "I try."

A mischievous glint sparked in Dahlia's eyes as she leaned forward. "What about you? Any witches caught your eye?"

Neville's ears turned a distinct shade of pink as he stammered, "Uh, no... not yet, at least."

"Not yet?" Dahlia teased, grinning. "Come on, Neville. There's got to be someone. Or are you just waiting for the perfect herbologist to sweep you off your feet?"

Neville laughed, relaxing a little. "Maybe. But honestly, I haven't really thought about it much."

Dahlia tilted her head, her smile softening. "Well, you deserve someone wonderful, Neville. You've got one of the kindest hearts I know."

Neville looked away, embarrassed but touched. "Thanks, Dahlia."

Changing the subject, Dahlia asked, "Are you excited for the new term at Hogwarts? Ready to tackle another year?"

"Oh, definitely!" Neville's face lit up, his passion unmistakable. "I can't wait for Herbology. Professor Sprout hinted we might get to work with Venomous Tentacula this year."

"Venomous Tentacula?" Dahlia repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Sounds dangerous."

Neville shrugged, grinning. "Maybe a little, but they're fascinating. The way they sense movement, their growth patterns—it's brilliant."

"You're going to end up with your own greenhouse someday," Dahlia said with a laugh. "Mark my words."

"That's the dream," Neville admitted, his voice softer now, a touch of wonder in his eyes. "I want to grow plants that can help people, like medicinal herbs or magical cures. Gran thinks it's a bit fanciful, but... I think it's possible."

"It's more than possible, Neville," Dahlia said firmly. "If anyone can do it, it's you."

Neville smiled at her, gratitude and determination in his expression. "Thanks, Dahlia. That means a lot."

Their conversation drifted to lighter topics after that, and as the room filled with the soft hum of voices and laughter from the adults, Dahlia felt a deep sense of contentment. For a moment, everything felt right, like the world had slowed down just enough for them to savor this peace.

The next morning, Dahlia woke to the sound of birds chirping outside her window, the soft light of early morning streaming through the curtains. She stretched and made her way downstairs, the familiar smell of freshly brewed tea and warm scones beckoning her toward the dining room. As she entered, she noticed that Sirius, Remus, Augusta, and Neville were all gathered around the table in a hushed conversation. Their voices were low, and the atmosphere felt heavy, like something was being discussed that Dahlia wasn't meant to hear.

"How are we going to tell Dahlia this?" Remus asked, his voice laced with concern.

Dahlia paused just inside the doorway, her brow furrowing. The tone in Remus's voice wasn't one she'd heard often—there was an underlying sadness, almost a sense of guilt.

"Tell me what?" she asked, stepping further into the room, her curiosity piqued.

The four adults froze, exchanging uneasy glances. For a moment, no one spoke. Sirius, clearly the most uncomfortable, made a flustered attempt to hide something behind his back. His eyes widened as he saw Dahlia's knowing look.

"Oh, nothing, Prongslet. Nothing to worry about," Sirius said quickly, attempting to cover up the Daily Prophet he had tried to conceal behind his back.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow. She knew her godfather well enough by now. He might have thought he could pull one over on her, but she had her suspicions. She crossed her arms, the air in the room suddenly feeling more charged. "You're hiding something," she said firmly.

Augusta, ever the calm and collected one, placed a reassuring hand on Dahlia's arm. "Really, dear, it's nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Dahlia wasn't fooled. She'd learned enough about the people in this house to know when they were trying to keep something from her, and right now, they were hiding something important. She was about to press them when, in one swift motion, she reached out and snatched the Daily Prophet from Sirius's hand.

There was a collective gasp. Neville and Augusta's eyes widened in shock, and Remus gave a quiet chuckle as he shook his head, clearly realizing how outmatched they were when it came to Dahlia's magic.

"What the—where did it—" Sirius started, his voice trailing off as he watched Dahlia, unperturbed, unfold the newspaper with a fluidity that suggested no one had a chance to stop her.

"I forgot you knew how to do wandless, wordless magic," Remus murmured, but his voice wasn't angry—just resigned.

Dahlia shot him a look, her eyes glinting with both amusement and determination. "You should've thought of that before trying to hide this from me," she replied, unfolding the paper with deliberate slowness. "Honestly, what could the Daily Prophet possibly be talking about that—" She paused, her words faltering when her eyes fell on the headline.

The words seemed to jump out at her: Greengrass Heiress Engaged to Heir Nott. Below the headline was a moving image of Theo and Daphne, their hands lightly clasped as they posed for the camera. Theo's stoic expression remained as indifferent as ever, but his posture was undeniably one of pride and possession. Daphne, her smile radiant, stood beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm, the sparkling engagement ring catching the light.

A tight knot formed in Dahlia's chest as she stared at the photo, the image searing itself into her mind. The air in the room seemed to grow colder, and a hollow feeling settled in her stomach.

"Prongslet..." Remus said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a step toward her, concern etched on his face. "Are you alright?"

Dahlia didn't answer at first. She stared at the photo, her eyes fixated on Theo's face, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She could feel the tears starting to burn at the corners of her eyes, but she forced them down, trying to maintain control. She couldn't let herself fall apart here—not in front of them.

"I'm fine, Uncle Moony," Dahlia said quickly, her voice flat, though the quiver in her tone betrayed her. She looked up from the newspaper, but the tears she had held back were threatening to spill over. Her hand tightened around the paper before she put it back on the table. "Can we go home? I'm sorry, Auggie, Neville," she said, her voice tight as she forced a smile.

Augusta, who had been watching the scene unfold with a concerned expression, immediately stood and crossed the room. She wrapped Dahlia in a warm embrace, murmuring soothing words into her ear.

"There's no need to apologize, dear. We understand. It's alright," Augusta said gently, her voice thick with empathy.

Neville, too, stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Dahlia. He kissed the top of her head in a comforting gesture, his voice low and sincere. "We'll catch up soon, Dahlia. Don't worry. Take care of yourself, alright?"

Dahlia nodded, unable to speak for fear that she would break down completely. She gave them both a small, shaky smile before stepping back, her gaze flickering to Sirius and Remus. She didn't want to make them worry more than they already did, but she couldn't stay here—not with that image still burning in her mind.

Without another word, they left through the Floo Network. The familiar green flames whirled around them, and in an instant, they were back in Havre de Paix.

As soon as they arrived, Dahlia didn't say a word to either of them. She bolted up the stairs, her footsteps loud against the wooden floor. The sound of the door to her room slamming shut echoed down the hall. Sirius started to follow, but Remus put a hand on his arm.

"Let her be, Padfoot," Remus said softly. "She needs time."

Sirius looked at him, his face a mixture of frustration and helplessness. "I hate seeing her like this, Moony. I don't know how to help her."

"I know," Remus replied, his voice calm but firm. "But we can't fix everything. Dahlia needs to process this on her own. She'll come to us when she's ready."

Sirius stood in the hallway for a moment, the weight of the situation settling over him. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I just wish I could do more."

"You're doing everything you can by being here for her," Remus said, offering a reassuring smile. "That's enough."

Meanwhile, upstairs, Dahlia had locked herself in her room. She threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow as the tears she'd been holding back finally spilled over. Her chest felt tight, and her heart felt like it was being slowly crushed. She couldn't stop thinking about Theo—about how much he meant to her, and how everything had changed so suddenly. The image of him with Daphne, smiling as they announced their engagement, was like a blade to her heart. It was the last thing she had expected to see, and the wound it left felt as fresh as ever.

Her sobs wracked her body, but she was too exhausted to even try to hold them in. The room around her felt suffocating, and the silence of the house felt like a cruel reminder of how alone she felt in that moment.

She tried to tell herself that it was for the best—that Theo had made his choice, and it wasn't her. But the thought only made the pain sharper, and the tears came faster.

Outside her door, Remus and Sirius stood in silence, unsure of how to comfort her. Remus sighed and leaned against the wall.

"She'll be okay, Padfoot," he said quietly. "She just needs time."

Yesterday

In the Nott Manor

The air in the Nott Manor was tense as Theodore stood by the large mirror in his room, staring at his reflection with a mix of frustration and reluctance. He was dressed in the formal attire his father had insisted on, a tailored suit that felt far too tight around his chest, though it did nothing to hide the irritation written all over his face.

"Theodore, you need to get dressed. The Greengrasses are going to arrive soon, and we need to announce your engagement to the Prophet," Vincent Nott's voice rang out from the doorway, harsh and demanding as always.

Theo didn't turn around, his voice laced with sarcasm as he responded. "Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you? More fame and power for you because of this... 'alliance.'" His tone dripped with disdain, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Vincent stepped into the room, his stern gaze locking onto his son's. "You will do as I say, Theodore. Do not argue with me," he said firmly, his voice low but filled with a chilling finality that left no room for rebellion.

Theodore's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides as he finally turned to face his father. "Fine. I'll do it," he muttered under his breath, the weight of his resignation evident in every word. He knew there was no way out of this. No matter how much he hated it, this marriage was already decided for him.

Later that afternoon, the Greengrasses arrived at Nott Manor. Theodore stood at the top of the grand staircase, staring down at the guests entering through the large front doors. The room was already bustling with activity—servants rushing about, the house elves preparing for the ceremony, and Vincent at his side, ushering the Greengrasses toward the waiting family members.

Astoria and Daphne Greengrass followed closely behind their parents, her ever-present grace and poised elegance lighting up the room. However, it wasn't just the Greengrasses who made an entrance. Rita Skeeter, the notorious gossip columnist, was by their side, her camera crew in tow. The flash of her camera seemed to add an uncomfortable weight to the air as she scurried to capture every moment for her next story.

"Well met, Heir Nott," Lord Aurelius Greengrass said, his voice warm but measured, his eyes flicking briefly to the young man standing before him with a sense of calculated professionalism.

"Well met, Lord Greengrass," Theodore responded, his voice flat, his gaze never meeting the older man's. He couldn't help but feel a wave of disdain for the entire situation. This marriage wasn't something he had a say in, and his heart was far from the polite formalities that the adults seemed so keen on maintaining.

Daphne Greengrass, her usual self-assuredness shining through, offered him a bright smile as she approached him. "Theodore," she greeted with a teasing tone, her smile more playful than it had any right to be. "Had I known you were playing hard to get and just wanted my hand in marriage, I would've simply proposed to you instead of asking you to walk with me in the first place."

Theodore stiffened, his fists clenching at his sides. "Let's be clear here, Greengrass," he said, his voice colder than before, his words sharp. "I don't like you, and I never will."

Daphne's expression faltered for just a moment before she returned to her usual smug smile. "Theodore," Vincent Nott reprimanded him, his voice stern and filled with authority. "Remember your place."

Daphne, however, didn't seem fazed. "It's fine, Lord Nott," she chimed in, her voice dripping with insincerity. "Honestly, Theodore, you wound me. But even if you dislike me, you can't do anything about it. We are to be bonded by the end of our fourth year, after all."

Theo's expression darkened, and his heart sank as he realized the full extent of his father's manipulation in this arrangement. The choice was never his to make, and Daphne's words only made that truth clearer.

"Here," Vincent said, handing Theodore a small, intricately carved box adorned with the Nott family crest. "Give this to Heiress Greengrass."

Theo glanced at the box in his hands, the cold weight of it feeling like an anchor dragging him down further into his misery. With a sigh, he reluctantly extended the box toward Daphne, who raised an eyebrow in amusement but didn't immediately take it.

"Go on, Theodore," Vincent said, his tone now a sharp command. "Put the ring on her finger."

Theo's hands were trembling, though he tried to hide it. He forced himself to slide the engagement ring onto Daphne's finger, the cool metal a stark reminder of everything he was being forced into. His eyes met hers as he did so, and for the briefest moment, there was a silent exchange—one that said everything he couldn't voice aloud. He glared at her, a silent protest, but she only smiled smugly in return, as if she had won already.

"Now, smile for the picture, Theodore," Daphne said, her voice carrying a hint of triumph as she looped her arm through his. She pulled him close, and before he could protest, the camera flashed. The picture was taken, capturing the moment for all the world to see.

Meanwhile, the camera crew and Rita Skeeter seemed satisfied with their work, the flashes of the camera lights capturing the moment of "happiness" between the two heirs. But for Theodore, every click of the camera felt like a pinprick of agony, reminding him of how far he had fallen from the life he once hoped for.

Daphne, her arm still linked with his, whispered in his ear, her voice sweet with a cruel edge. "You can keep pretending all you want, Theodore. But in the end, you'll still have to marry me. It's already done."

Theodore gritted his teeth, his pulse quickening with frustration. He didn't respond, knowing it would only feed into her satisfaction. He had no choice in the matter. But in that moment, as he looked into the eyes of the woman who was now wearing his ring, he made a silent vow to himself. He would find a way out of this. He had to.

And no matter what it took, he wouldn't be a pawn in this game. He had his own path to follow, even if it meant fighting against the chains that bound him.

But for now, he stood there, silent and cold, as the picture was taken, his future already written for him by those who thought they could control his life.

Chapter Text

The next day, Sirius and Remus grew increasingly concerned about Dahlia. She hadn't left her room since the morning before, hadn't eaten, and even Dipsy, the house-elf, was unable to enter due to the powerful wards surrounding her door—courtesy of her accidental magic.

Standing outside her door, Remus tried once again, his knuckles gently rapping on the wood. "Lia, please come out, Prongslet," he pleaded, his voice soft but filled with worry. "We're so worried about you. Just talk to us, please."

There was no reply, only the faint sound of muffled sniffles that tugged painfully at Remus's heart. After a few moments of silence, he sighed heavily and descended the staircase to where Sirius was pacing anxiously in the sitting room.

"She's still not coming down?" Sirius asked, his brow furrowed in worry.

Remus shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "She's still crying, Sirius. I don't know how to reach her." He slumped into the nearest chair, his head falling into his hands.

Before Sirius could respond, both men tensed as the wards signaled someone approaching the property. A moment later, there was a firm knock on the front door. Sirius exchanged a glance with Remus before he moved to answer it, wand in hand just in case.

To his surprise, standing on the other side of the door were Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

"Cissy—uh, I mean, Narcissa," Sirius said, blinking in shock. "What are you doing here? And how did you get through the wards?"

Narcissa raised a delicate brow, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Have you forgotten, dear cousin? I am a Black by blood. The wards recognize me," she said coolly. "And before you ask, we mean no harm. My husband and I are here to talk."

Sirius hesitated briefly, then stepped aside. "Get in," he said gruffly, leading them into the sitting room.

As the Malfoys entered, they saw Remus still seated, looking exhausted and deeply concerned.

"And you must be Remus Lupin," Narcissa said, her tone polite but curious.

"That's me," Remus replied, straightening in his seat. "Husband of this mad man here," he added, nodding toward Sirius with a faint attempt at humor.

Lucius wasted no time. "What's going on with the two of you?" he asked, his sharp eyes scanning their weary expressions.

Sirius let out a heavy sigh and gestured toward the staircase. "It's Dahlia," he said. "She hasn't come out of her room since yesterday morning. She hasn't eaten, hasn't said a word, and she's warded the door so tightly that not even Dipsy can get in."

"She's heartbroken," Remus added quietly, rubbing his temples. "Over the engagement announcement of Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass. She saw it in the Daily Prophet, and it's crushed her."

Narcissa's expression softened, and Lucius's brows furrowed slightly. "Ah," Narcissa murmured. "We heard about that. Draco was ranting about it for hours, saying it made no sense because, according to him, Theodore was courting Dahlia. He seemed genuinely baffled by the announcement."

Sirius sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his unruly hair. "So were we," he muttered, his voice carrying the weight of exhaustion and mounting concern.

The room fell into a moment of silence, tense and heavy, before Narcissa straightened her posture, her composed facade unshaken. "We didn't come here just to exchange pleasantries," she said softly, her icy blue gaze locking onto Sirius's. "There's... another matter we need to discuss."

Sirius arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned casually, though his tone was anything but. "What is it, Cissy? What's so urgent that you showed up unannounced?"

Narcissa exchanged a glance with Lucius, who gave her a subtle nod. She inhaled deeply before answering, her voice tinged with a rare hesitance. "It's about the Dark Lord."

At her words, Remus stiffened in his chair, his sharp gaze now fully trained on the pair. Sirius's expression shifted in an instant, his features hardening. "What about him?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous low.

"There are whispers," Narcissa began, her tone careful but steady. "Signs. Movements. He's... regaining power. And we suspect it is your former friend, Peter Pettigrew, aiding in his return." She glanced at Lucius, who stepped forward, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the faint but unmistakably darkening mark etched into his skin. "Lucius's Dark Mark has begun to return, Sirius. He's summoning followers, and we have reason to believe his return is not far off."

Sirius's sharp intake of breath echoed in the quiet room. His gray eyes locked onto the mark, his jaw tightening. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with anger and something heavier—fear.

"We've done everything we can to keep our distance," Lucius added, his voice unusually subdued. "But it's becoming harder to avoid notice. He's reasserting his influence, gathering those loyal to him."

"And why are you telling us this?" Sirius asked sharply, his skepticism cutting through the air like a blade. "This doesn't sound like something the Malfoys would share freely."

"Because," Narcissa said firmly, her gaze unwavering, "if he truly returns, I won't allow my family to be dragged into his schemes. Especially not Draco." Her voice softened slightly as she said her son's name. "I refuse to let him be used as a pawn in this twisted war."

Sirius blinked, the mention of Draco causing his features to shift ever so slightly. "Draco," he murmured, his tone unreadable. He looked back at Narcissa. "What are you asking of me, Cissy?"

"We need sanctuary," she said simply, her tone steady despite the tension in the room. "If the worst happens, I want to know that my son—and I—can count on your protection. I will not leave him to Voldemort's mercy."

Sirius hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gray eyes flicked to Remus, who gave him a subtle, encouraging nod. "That's a big ask, Narcissa," Remus said, his voice quiet but measured. "Especially considering... well, everything."

Sirius exhaled, his shoulders loosening slightly. "I don't care about 'everything,'" he said after a beat. "If Draco needs protection, I'll give it. He's family. And no matter how bloody dysfunctional we Blacks are, I'm not about to let him get swept up in Voldemort's madness."

Narcissa's expression softened, though her carefully composed demeanor remained intact. "Thank you, Sirius."

Lucius inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Your willingness to help doesn't go unnoticed, Black."

Sirius scoffed, though his tone lacked its usual venom. "Don't think this means I've forgiven you, Malfoy," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm doing this for Draco—and for Cissy. Not you."

Lucius smirked faintly but refrained from responding, knowing better than to press the matter.

Narcissa stepped forward, placing a delicate but firm hand on Sirius's arm. Her voice lowered as she added, "There's one more thing, Sirius. Something you need to be aware of."

Sirius frowned, his eyes narrowing. "What is it?"

"The Dark Lord," Narcissa began carefully, her tone measured, "has taken a particular interest in Dahlia."

Remus straightened abruptly, his face immediately drawn into a deep frown. Sirius, however, froze, his eyes darkening with a mixture of fury and dread. "What do you mean, interest?" he asked, his voice barely above a growl.

"He sees her as... a powerful asset," Narcissa explained. "Especially given her actions that night in 1981. If he returns, Sirius, he'll either want to use her for his cause or destroy her outright."

The room fell deathly silent. Sirius clenched his fists, the air around him almost crackling with anger. "If he so much as thinks about going near her," he hissed, his voice dangerously low, "I'll kill him myself."

"We're warning you now," Lucius said, his voice grave. "Protect her at all costs. She's in more danger than you might realize."

"She's already under wards," Remus interjected, his voice firm and steady. "No one will get to her. Not while we're here."

"Good," Narcissa said, nodding approvingly. "Just... stay vigilant. The Dark Lord has a way of finding weaknesses, even in the strongest defenses."

Sirius nodded sharply, his gaze unyielding. "I'm always vigilant when it comes to her."

Narcissa offered a rare, genuine smile. "Thank you, Sirius. Truly."

Sirius exhaled, some of the tension easing from his frame. "We Blacks might be dysfunctional," he muttered, "but we protect our own."

Before they left, Narcissa placed a gentle hand on Sirius's arm. "If I may offer some advice... perhaps you should call on Dahlia's friends for support. Sometimes, it takes the right people to break through walls like hers."

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. "I'll consider it."

As the Malfoys departed, Sirius closed the door and turned to Remus with a troubled expression.

Remus, however, seemed thoughtful, a spark of hope flickering in his tired eyes. "You know," he began, "Narcissa might have a point. Dahlia's close to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

Sirius sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "You really think they can reach her when we can't? She's barely let us say two words to her."

Remus nodded, his tone firm but gentle. "They're her best friends, Sirius. Sometimes, friends can cut through the walls we put up in ways family can't. If anyone can help her right now, it's them."

Sirius hesitated for a moment, then let out a reluctant breath. "Fine. Let's call them. I'll do anything to help her."

A faint smile tugged at Remus's lips. "I'll send Dipsy to fetch them right away."

Ron and Hermione arrived at the manor, accompanied by Dipsy, who nervously wrung her hands. The atmosphere in the house was heavy, almost suffocating, as Sirius and Remus greeted them at the door. Both men looked exhausted, their worry etched into every line of their faces.

"How is she?" Hermione asked immediately, her tone urgent but calm, as though bracing herself for the worst.

Remus sighed heavily, leaning against the doorframe. "Not good. She hasn't come out of her room since yesterday morning. She's placed wards on the door—strong ones. Even Dipsy hasn't been able to bring her food. She's been crying all day."

Ron's face turned red with anger. "I knew it. I knew we couldn't trust that slimy snake! Typical bloody Slytherin. Pretends to be all charming, then stabs you in the back!"

"Ron," Hermione snapped, shooting him a sharp glare. "This isn't about you. Dahlia's heartbroken; she doesn't need your ranting right now."

Ron crossed his arms but fell silent, though his jaw was still tight with frustration.

"Where's her room?" Hermione asked Sirius, her voice softening as her focus shifted to their goal.

Sirius gestured toward the staircase. "Top floor, third door on the left. But good luck. She hasn't let anyone in—not even Remus or me."

Hermione gave him a determined nod and headed upstairs without hesitation, Ron trailing behind her. "We'll get through to her," she said, her voice firm.

When they reached Dahlia's door, Hermione knocked gently at first. "Dahlia, it's us—Hermione and Ron. Can we come in? Please?"

No answer came from the other side, but Hermione pressed on. "Lia, we're really worried about you. We just want to help. Whatever's happened, we'll face it together, okay?"

Still, there was no response, just the faint sound of sniffles from within. Hermione exchanged a worried glance with Ron, who looked equally uncertain.

"Oi, Lia," Ron tried, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "I know I'm not great with this kind of stuff, but... we're here for you. You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but at least let us in, yeah?"

For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a faint shimmer of light, the wards around the door disappeared. Hermione didn't wait; she pushed the door open and immediately rushed to Dahlia's side.

Dahlia was curled up on the edge of her bed, her face pale and streaked with dried tears. Her hair was messy, and she clutched a pillow tightly to her chest. She looked up as Hermione entered, her eyes red and swollen.

"Lia," Hermione said softly, sitting down beside her and pulling her into a comforting hug.

Ron lingered in the doorway, his usual awkwardness clear as he shuffled his feet. Finally, he stepped inside and cleared his throat. "Hey, Lia," he said gently, his tone much softer than usual.

Dahlia clung to Hermione, her voice shaky as she tried to speak. "I... I thought I'd finally moved on. After everything—after what happened that night two summers ago—I thought I could believe I was worth loving again. And then this happens." Her voice broke, and fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. "What was the point? What was the point of courting me if he was just going to get engaged to Greengrass anyway?"

"Oh, Dahlia," Hermione murmured, stroking her friend's hair. "You didn't deserve this. None of this is your fault."

Ron's face turned red again, and he clenched his fists. "That git. Slimy, two-faced—ugh! I'll throttle him if I ever see him again. How dare he lead you on like that?"

"Ron," Hermione said warningly, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness. She turned back to Dahlia, her voice soothing. "Listen to me, Lia. Theo's actions don't define your worth. What he did says more about him—and his family—than it does about you."

Dahlia sniffled, wiping at her eyes with trembling hands. "But I thought he cared about me. I really believed he did."

"Well, he's a bloody idiot if he didn't," Ron said firmly, sitting down on the other side of her. "Honestly, Lia, you're one of the best people I know. If he can't see that, he's not worth the time of day."

Dahlia let out a shaky breath, her gaze flickering between her two friends. "I don't know what I'd do without you two."

"You'll never have to find out," Hermione said, squeezing her hand.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, offering a crooked smile. "And if you need us to rough him up, just say the word. I'll even let Fred and George join in. They'd love to prank him into oblivion."

Dahlia let out a small, watery laugh, the sound weak but genuine. "Thanks, Ron. That... actually does make me feel a little better."

"Good," Hermione said, smiling at her. "Now, how about we get you out of this room? You've been cooped up here for too long."

"I don't know..." Dahlia hesitated, glancing down at her rumpled pajamas.

"We're not taking no for an answer," Ron said, standing up and holding out a hand. "Come on, Lia. You can't hide forever. Let's go downstairs and get some food in you. Sirius looked like he was about to cry when we walked in, and I think Remus is worried sick."

"They're really that worried?" Dahlia asked softly.

"They care about you," Hermione said gently. "We all do. So, let's go."

Dahlia hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly. She took Ron's hand, letting him pull her to her feet. Hermione smoothed out Dahlia's hair as best she could and gave her an encouraging smile.

As they led her downstairs, Ron grinned. "And hey, if you don't feel like eating Sirius's cooking, we'll just make Dipsy whip something up. That's got to be better than whatever disaster Sirius tries to pass off as food."

Dahlia chuckled softly, her spirits lifting slightly. "Thanks, you two. Really."

"Always," Hermione said, looping an arm around her shoulders. "We've got your back, Lia. No matter what."

As they descended the stairs, Dahlia trailing slightly behind Hermione and Ron, Sirius and Remus immediately sprang into action. Sirius was the first to reach her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Prongslet, you've had us worried sick," he said, his voice uncharacteristically tender. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

Before Dahlia could answer, Remus was at her side as well, a warm but concerned smile on his face. "You've had quite the audience waiting for you," he said gently, patting her shoulder. "I'm glad you're out of that room, Lia."

"I'm sorry for worrying you both," Dahlia said softly, her voice a little hoarse. "I just needed some time."

"You take all the time you need," Sirius said firmly. "Just don't scare us like that again. If you ever feel like shutting us out, promise you'll at least let us bring you some food, yeah?"

"Deal," Dahlia said with a faint smile.

The moment was broken by Sirius turning his attention to Ron, narrowing his eyes with mock offense. "And you, Weasley," he said, pointing a finger. "Don't think I didn't hear what you said about my cooking. 'Disaster,' was it? I'll have you know I am the best cook in this house!"

Ron raised his hands in mock surrender, a sheepish grin on his face. "In my defense, I have no idea what your cooking tastes like. I was just repeating what Dahlia said in her letters the other day."

Dahlia's eyes widened as she turned to Ron. "Oi! Don't bring me into this!"

"Oh, I'm absolutely bringing you into this," Ron said, smirking. "You're the one who called Sirius's shepherd's pie an 'unidentified magical experiment.'"

Sirius gasped, clutching his chest in mock indignation. "Betrayed! By my own goddaughter! Moony, did you hear that? She's slandering my culinary masterpieces!"

Remus, who had been silently chuckling, raised an eyebrow at Sirius. "Masterpieces, you say? Like that time you burned toast so badly it set off the wards?"

"That was one time!" Sirius protested, throwing his hands up. "And you're supposed to be on my side!"

Dahlia, despite herself, let out a laugh—a genuine one. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest, and she appreciated her family and friends for their efforts to lighten the mood.

Hermione smiled warmly at her. "There's that smile. See? It's nice to laugh a little, isn't it?"

Dahlia nodded, her voice still a bit shaky. "Yeah, it is. Thank you, all of you."

"Well," Sirius said, clapping his hands together. "Now that we've thoroughly embarrassed me, how about we eat? Dipsy made lunch since apparently no one trusts me in the kitchen anymore."

"I wonder why," Ron muttered under his breath, earning a playful swat on the arm from Hermione.

They all made their way to the dining room, where a spread of sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a steaming pot of tea awaited them. Dipsy hovered nearby, wringing her hands nervously until Dahlia turned to her with a smile.

"Thank you, Dipsy," Dahlia said sincerely.

"Miss Dahlia is very welcome!" Dipsy squeaked, her ears twitching in relief.

As they sat down, the conversation turned lighthearted. Hermione filled them in on her summer studies, Ron recounted a chaotic incident involving Fred, George, and a malfunctioning set of fireworks, and even Sirius shared a story about one of his old pranks at Hogwarts.

For the first time in days, Dahlia felt herself relaxing. Her friends and family surrounded her, their warmth and support a soothing balm for her heartache.

At one point, Remus leaned over and quietly said, "You know, Lia, it's okay to feel upset. But it's also okay to let yourself enjoy these moments, even if things aren't perfect."

Dahlia met his gaze and nodded. "I know, Uncle Moony. I'll get there. Just... one step at a time."

"That's all we ask," Remus said with a gentle smile.

The afternoon passed with laughter, teasing, and warmth, and though Dahlia's heart still ached, she felt stronger knowing she wasn't alone.

Chapter Text

The days that followed Ron and Hermione's departure passed in a blur. Dahlia spent her time training with Sirius and Remus, refining her magical abilities under their watchful eyes. Ron and Hermione had returned a few times to check on her, bringing a sense of normalcy and comfort, but as her birthday approached, everything else seemed to fade into the background.

Sirius and Remus had been preparing for days, carefully organizing the surprise, going over the details again and again. They had arranged for the Longbottoms, the Weasleys, and the Grangers to join them for the celebration. The house had been filled with decorations—balloons, streamers, and candles—all in colors that reflected Dahlia's connection to both the Potter and Black families: scarlet, gold, and black. It was going to be the first real birthday she had since everything had changed, and they wanted to make sure it was unforgettable.

On the morning of her birthday, Sirius and Remus woke up early, determined to get everything ready in time. Sirius had a grin plastered on his face as he looked around the room, his fingers tracing the edges of a new dress he'd picked out for Dahlia. It was scarlet, with black detailing, a perfect blend of both families' colors.

"Everything looks perfect," Remus commented, eyes scanning the room filled with careful details. "She's going to love this."

Sirius nodded, a flicker of emotion crossing his face. "She deserves it. After everything, she deserves to feel loved and happy."

Once they were satisfied, they made their way to Dahlia's room. Sirius knocked gently on the door. "Time to wake up, Prongslet."

"Five more minutes," they heard Dahlia's muffled voice from inside.

Remus chuckled softly, glancing at Sirius. "Do you think she'll ever get tired of that response?"

"Not a chance," Sirius grinned. "But it's her special day, so let's let her sleep in a little longer."

"Come on, Lia! It's your special day," Sirius called again, louder this time.

They heard the rustle of sheets and a long sigh, and then the door creaked open. Dahlia stood there in a nightgown, her hair tousled and wild, blinking at them sleepily. "It's my birthday?" she asked, clearly surprised.

"Yes, it is, Prongslet," Remus said with a smile, though he could see the faint confusion in her eyes. "Did you forget?"

Dahlia didn't answer, but she smiled sheepishly, rubbing her eyes. "Guess I did," she murmured, still half asleep.

"No worries, but we've got something special planned for you today. You just need to get ready first," Sirius said with a twinkle in his eye. He handed her the dress he'd picked out, a beautiful scarlet gown with black accents, perfectly combining both her families' colors.

Dahlia's eyes widened, and she took the dress in her hands, running her fingers over the soft fabric. "Oh, Sirius, this is beautiful," she whispered, holding the dress up to herself.

"I know, right?" Sirius grinned. "Now go on, get changed. We'll be waiting for you downstairs."

Dahlia smiled, her heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you, both of you. Really."

As she disappeared back into her room to get dressed, Sirius and Remus exchanged a quiet look, both trying to hold back their emotions. They hadn't seen her smile like that in weeks, and it meant more than words could express.

Moments later, Dahlia descended the stairs, her footsteps echoing in the quiet house. She looked around, expecting to see some sign of the day's celebration. "Siri? Uncle Moony? Where are you guys?" she called, her voice soft but curious.

The house remained eerily silent.

"Hello?" she ventured, her voice growing a little louder. She wandered through the hallway, passing the sitting room and heading for the dining room, wondering what was going on. When she stepped inside, she was immediately met with a shower of confetti, and a loud, enthusiastic chorus of voices.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LIA!" Everyone cheered, and Dahlia froze, her hands flying to her mouth in shock. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she looked around at the people gathered in front of her—her closest friends, family, and those who had become family.

Augusta was standing with Neville, who grinned brightly as his grandmother congratulated her.The Weasleys were in one corner, Fred and George making some cheeky remarks as Ginny hugged Dahlia tightly. The Grangers stood nearby, their smiles as warm as ever, and of course, Sirius and Remus were there, both holding a large cake that looked like it came straight from a bakery.

Dahlia's eyes were wide as she took it all in, a rush of emotion flooding through her. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, the overwhelming love and support making her heart swell. She had been so afraid of being alone, so unsure of her place in the world after everything that had happened, but seeing the people she loved standing before her, all there for her, made everything feel right again.

Sirius's voice cut through the moment, his tone teasing but full of affection. "Make a wish, Prongslet," he said, nudging her gently as he set the cake down in front of her.

Dahlia stared at the cake, at the candles flickering above it, her mind momentarily blank as she processed everything. But then, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and she closed her eyes, making her wish.

When she opened them again, she glanced around at all the people who had come together to celebrate her. She knew her wish, though she kept it close to her heart.

"I wish for happiness," she whispered to herself, then glanced at Sirius and Remus. "And for the people I love to always be with me."

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance, both of them understanding exactly what she meant, and both of them silently vowing to make sure that wish came true.

"Blow out the candles, Lia," Remus said softly, his voice full of pride.

Dahlia smiled, feeling the warmth of their love surround her. She took a deep breath, and with one swift exhale, she blew out the candles. The room erupted into cheers once more, and Dahlia felt her heart soar.

The sounds of laughter and chatter echoed through the house as the birthday party continued in full swing. Dahlia, however, stood a little apart, glancing toward Mrs. Weasley, who was chatting warmly with Remus near the refreshments table. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she approached.

"Mrs. Weasley?" Dahlia said softly, catching the older woman's attention.

Molly turned to her with a kind smile. "Yes, dear?"

"Would it be alright if we talked in private for a moment?" Dahlia asked, her tone hesitant but firm.

"Of course, dear," Molly replied, concern flickering across her face. She followed Dahlia out to the garden, where the gentle hum of party noises faded into the background. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the neatly trimmed hedges and flowerbeds.

"What is it you wanted to talk about, dear?" Molly asked, her motherly warmth evident in her voice.

Dahlia hesitated, her hands wringing nervously in front of her. The weight of what she was about to say hung heavy on her heart. "Mrs. Weasley," she began, her voice a little unsteady, "over the past two years, I've come to see you as a second mother. You and Emma Granger have been such important figures in my life, and I’m so grateful for that."

Molly smiled warmly, her gentle eyes softening as she reached out to place a comforting hand on Dahlia's arm. "Oh, Dahlia, that's very sweet of you to say. Arthur and I think of you as family, you know. You’ll always have a place here with us."

Dahlia nodded, though her expression remained serious. "That's why this is so hard to talk about. There's something that's been bothering me, and I need to address it."

Molly’s brow furrowed in concern, her smile fading as she looked at Dahlia. "What is it, dear? You can tell me anything."

Dahlia took a deep breath, steeling herself before looking Molly in the eye. "Mrs. Weasley, I know that during the summer before my second year, you... you took money from my Gringotts vault."

Molly’s eyes widened in surprise, a mixture of shock and confusion flashing across her face. "I’m afraid I don’t follow, dear. I would never—"

Dahlia cut her off gently but firmly. "Please, just let me explain. I know you withdrew money from Gringotts that summer. I'm not angry, Mrs. Weasley. If you had just asked me, I would have given you the money without hesitation. But... you didn’t. And that... it’s broken my trust in you."

Molly’s hands flew to her chest, her face crumpling as her voice trembled. "Dahlia, I swear, I didn’t steal from you. Yes, I went to Gringotts that summer, but it was with Dumbledore’s help. He gave Arthur and me the money to help with the boys and Ginny’s school expenses. We didn’t know what else to do—our own savings weren’t enough."

Dahlia’s frown deepened, the puzzle pieces slowly clicking into place as she processed Molly’s words. "Mrs. Weasley, did Dumbledore give you an authorization letter when you withdrew the money?"

"Yes, he did," Molly replied, her voice gaining steadiness as she spoke. "But he didn’t let us read it. He just told us it would allow us to access the funds, and that we didn’t need to worry about paying it back."

Dahlia's stomach sank as she pieced it together. Anger and frustration bubbled to the surface, her fists clenching. "That fucking asshole..." she muttered under her breath.

Molly gasped softly, her eyes wide with alarm. "Dahlia! What’s wrong?"

Dahlia took another deep breath, her jaw set as she tried to calm herself. "Mrs. Weasley, I think I understand now. That money Dumbledore gave you—it wasn’t his to give. It was from my vault. That’s why he didn’t let you read the letter. He was using my inheritance without my knowledge or consent."

Molly’s hand flew to her mouth in shock, her eyes welling up with tears. "Oh, dear... I had no idea. I swear, I would never have taken it if I’d known. Arthur and I—oh, we’ll pay it back, every last knut!"

Dahlia reached out, gently grasping Molly’s hand. "Mrs. Weasley, please don’t worry about that. I don’t blame you. You didn’t know, and it sounds like you were just trying to do what was best for your family. I’m just... glad we could clear this up."

Molly’s tears spilled over as she pulled Dahlia into a tight hug, squeezing her like she never wanted to let go. "Thank you, dear. You’re so understanding, much more than I deserve."

Dahlia hugged her back, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the situation. "You’ve done so much for me, Mrs. Weasley. I could never hold this against you. Let’s just move forward, okay?"

Molly nodded, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater and offering Dahlia a watery smile. "You’re a remarkable young woman, Dahlia. I’m so proud of you."

Dahlia smiled back, her chest feeling a little lighter now that the truth had come out. "Thank you. But one last thing, though, Mrs. Weasley. Did you ever sign anything when that money was withdrawn?"

Molly hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Er, yes, dear, but Dumbledore told us it was just for the withdrawal. Why?"

"Okay, that sums it up then," Dahlia said, her voice flat as she let out a sigh.

"Sums what up?" Molly asked, a puzzled expression crossing her face.

"The voided marriage contract of Ron and me," Dahlia said, her eyes meeting Molly’s.

"What?!" Molly’s face flushed a deep red as she processed what Dahlia had said. She took a step back, hands clasping to her chest. "Oh, dear, I know you treat my son like your brothers and don’t look at them that way... but although it’d be nice to have you as my daughter-in-law, Arthur and I wouldn’t do that behind your back, dear. I’m sorry."

Dahlia chuckled softly, her shoulders relaxing. "It’s fine, Mrs. Weasley. I just needed to clear that up, besides, as I said it was voided because the Potter family seal was absent."

"Now, shall we head back inside?" Dahlia added with a grin. "I’m sure Ron’s managed to eat half the cake by now."

Molly let out a genuine laugh, linking her arm with Dahlia’s as they walked back toward the house. "That boy and his sweet tooth... I wouldn’t be surprised! Come on, let’s rescue the rest of the cake."

As they reentered the lively party, Dahlia felt a renewed sense of clarity and peace. The weight of suspicion and misunderstanding had lifted, and she knew she had done the right thing in addressing it. Sirius caught her eye from across the room, tilting his head in a silent question. Dahlia gave him a reassuring nod, and he smiled, raising a glass in her direction.

One morning, Dahlia sat at her desk, reading a letter from Ron. As her eyes scanned the parchment, her expression fell. With a sigh, she folded the letter and headed down to the drawing room, where Remus was seated in his usual armchair, a book in hand and a steaming mug of tea on the side table.

"What's got your knickers in a twist this morning, Prongslet?" Remus asked without looking up, sensing her mood instantly.

Dahlia plopped onto the couch, crossing her arms. "The tickets Mr. Weasley got for the Quidditch World Cup were fake," she grumbled.

Remus closed his book, giving her a sympathetic look. "That's disappointing. Poor Arthur must be beside himself."

She nodded. "It's just unfair, Uncle Moony. They were so excited about it. Ron and the twins couldn't stop talking about going all summer. I feel awful for them."

"Understandable," Remus replied, setting his book aside. "It's not every day you get the chance to see the World Cup live."

Dahlia glanced around the room. "Where's Sirius? Doesn't he usually barge in by now, complaining about the lack of excitement in the mornings?"

Remus chuckled. "He's out running an errand. Said he had something important to handle."

"This early? That doesn't sound like Sirius." She raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "What's he up to?"

Before Remus could respond, there was a loud pop in the center of the room. Startled, both turned to see Sirius, grinning from ear to ear, standing in the middle of the room, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"Guess who just secured tickets?" Sirius announced triumphantly, hands on his hips.

"Tickets for what?" Dahlia asked, already sitting up straighter, a flicker of hope in her voice.

Sirius grinned wider. "The Quidditch World Cup, of course! And not just any tickets—top-tier box seats for all of us."

Dahlia's eyes widened. "Are you serious?!" she exclaimed, leaping to her feet.

"Always," Sirius quipped with a wink, clearly enjoying his moment of heroism. "And these are way better than the scam tickets Bagman tried to pass off to Arthur. Can you imagine sitting close to the ground with a limited view? Rubbish!"

"Wait—how did you even manage to get them?" Dahlia asked, her curiosity piqued.

"I have my ways," Sirius said smugly, plopping onto the armrest of Remus's chair. "When Arthur mentioned the fake tickets yesterday, I knew I couldn't let us miss the biggest event of the year. I pulled a few strings, wrote a few letters, and voilà! Sirius Black delivers, as always."

"Unbelievable," Remus muttered, though there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "What 'sources' are you talking about, Padfoot?"

Sirius waved a hand dismissively. "You know I have connections everywhere, Moony. It's one of the perks of being me."

Dahlia's excitement bubbled over as she clapped her hands together. "Oh, this is amazing! I have to tell Ron and Hermione—they're going to flip especially Ron!" She spun around and bolted up the stairs to her room, her footsteps echoing through the hall.

Remus watched her go, then turned back to Sirius. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

Sirius shrugged, his grin never fading. "Ridiculous, maybe. But I'm also the favorite godfather." He paused, leaning in conspiratorially. "You should've seen the look on the guy's face when I insisted on the box seats. Let's just say, nobody tells Sirius Black no."

Remus rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Well, you've made her day, and probably the Weasleys' too."

"That's the plan," Sirius said, stretching out like a satisfied dog. "Now, let's see how long it takes for Dahlia to drag us into her excitement."

Sure enough, within minutes, they could hear Dahlia's excited chatter as she summoned Hedwig, eager to spread the news.

The morning of the Quidditch World Cup began far too early for Dahlia's liking. She was jolted awake at 4 a.m. by the sound of Sirius pounding on her bedroom door with far too much enthusiasm for that hour.

"Prongsletttt! Get up, or we're going to miss the Portkey!" Sirius called, his voice echoing through the hall.

Dahlia groaned, burying her face deeper into her pillow. "Five more minutes!" she mumbled, hoping he'd leave her in peace.

"Five minutes, and we'll leave without you!" Sirius shouted back.

Knowing he might actually follow through, Dahlia groaned again, reluctantly rolling out of bed. She shuffled to the door, cracking it open just enough to glare at her godfather. "Fine! I'm getting dressed now. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Sirius replied, his grin annoyingly wide. "Make it quick, Prongslet. Remus and I are ready."

Mumbling about "overenthusiastic godfathers," Dahlia dressed in a forest-green dress fit for the outdoors, paired with sturdy boots that matched the outfit. She braided her hair hastily but neatly, giving her an air of effortless elegance despite the early hour.

When she descended the stairs, Sirius was waiting at the bottom, looking her over with an approving nod. "Much better. Let's go, or we'll miss all the fun."

"Why do we even have to go this early?" Dahlia grumbled, crossing her arms as she followed him to the fireplace. "Couldn't one of you just Side-Along Apparate me there?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Sirius replied, clearly scandalized by the suggestion.

Remus, standing nearby with a cup of tea, chuckled. "Your godfather is a Quidditch fanatic, Prongslet. What did you expect?"

"I am a Quidditch fanatic, too," Dahlia countered, adjusting her boots, "but you don't see me getting up at this ridiculous hour."

"You've got youth on your side," Sirius teased, looping his arm through hers. "Now, come along. Time to Apparate!"

With a sharp pop, they appeared on the windswept hilltop of Stoatshead Hill. The early morning air was brisk, and the sky was painted with hues of pink and gold as the sun began its slow rise. Ahead of them, two figures stood silhouetted against the horizon, one of whom waved eagerly.

"Over here, Sirius!" called Amos Diggory, his voice carrying on the wind.

Sirius approached with his usual swagger, pulling Dahlia and Remus along. Amos Diggory was a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, holding a moldy-looking boot—their Portkey—in one hand. Beside him stood Cedric Diggory, tall, golden-haired, and smiling warmly.

"Amos, good to see you!" Sirius greeted, shaking his hand firmly. "Remus, Dahlia, meet Amos Diggory, one of the Ministry's finest—Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you've already met his son, Cedric."

Dahlia offered a polite smile. "Yes, of course. Cedric and I met last term."

"Good morning, Dahlia," Cedric said, his cheeks flushing slightly as he smiled at her.

"Hi, Cedric," Dahlia replied, her tone friendly but casual.

Sirius's sharp gaze flicked to Cedric, narrowing slightly at the boy's sudden bashfulness.

"Well met, Lord Diggory," Dahlia said, dipping her head slightly in greeting.

"Well met, Heiress Potter," Amos replied with equal formality, though his tone was warm.

Amos beamed as he turned to Sirius. "Cedric's talked about you, Dahlia," he began jovially. "Told us all about playing against you last year—said it's not every day you get to beat Dahlia Potter! Something to tell my grandchildren, eh?"

Dahlia's polite smile froze slightly, while Sirius and Remus both scowled at Amos's tone. Cedric, clearly embarrassed, muttered under his breath. "Dad, I already told you—"

"Dahlia fell off her broom, Dad," Cedric said, louder this time. "It was an accident."

"Yes, yes," Amos said dismissively, clapping Cedric on the back, "but you didn't fall off, did you? Always modest, Ced, always the gentleman—but the better player won, didn't they? One falls off their broom, one doesn't. Pretty straightforward, if you ask me!"

Dahlia's eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms. "It's hard to stay on your broom when a swarm of Dementors is feeding on your worst trauma," she said coldly, her voice steady and calm despite the sharp edge.

Amos paled, his jovial demeanor faltering. "Oh... I'm so sorry, Heiress Potter. That was uncalled for," he stammered.

"It's fine, Lord Diggory," Dahlia said graciously, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "And Cedric deserves credit—it's not every day you beat Gryffindor's star Seeker, after all."

Cedric looked mortified, while Amos quickly changed the subject. They were soon joined by the Weasleys and Hermione, whose chatter and laughter lightened the mood.

"Dahlia, you look beautiful as always," Hermione said, embracing her.

"So do you, Mione," Dahlia replied warmly.

"Ugh, how do you even have the energy to get dressed up at this ungodly hour?" Ginny asked, yawning as she adjusted her jumper.

Dahlia smirked. "Ginny, love, I'm a professional," she said with a wink, entirely missing the way Ginny's cheeks flushed crimson.

"Nearly time!" Mr. Weasley called out, pulling his watch from his pocket. "Everyone, gather around the Portkey!"

The group crowded around the moldy boot as Amos held it out. Dahlia suppressed a laugh at how ridiculous they all looked, standing in a circle clutching an old piece of rubbish in the middle of nowhere.

"Three... two... one..."

The familiar pull behind her navel yanked her forward, and the world blurred into a swirl of color and sound. Moments later, they landed in a heap, with Ron crashing into Dahlia and sending her sprawling.

Cedric was at her side in an instant, offering her a hand. "Are you alright?"

"Thanks," Dahlia said, brushing herself off as she took his hand. "Why do you two love to make me suffer through wizarding transportation?" she asked Sirius and Remus, glaring at them half-heartedly.

"Because it's fun," Sirius said with a grin, clearly enjoying himself.

As they made their way to the campsite, nestled near the Weasleys, Dahlia couldn't help but smile. Despite the early wake-up call, the day was already shaping up to be unforgettable

The group reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, where a spacious clearing awaited them. Two small signs hammered into the ground read Black and Weezley.

"Couldn't have picked a better spot!" Mr. Weasley declared cheerfully, clapping his hands together. His face was lit with the excitement of the event.

"The field's just on the other side of the woods there," he said, gesturing with enthusiasm. "We're as close as anyone could hope to be!"

He swung his backpack off his shoulders, setting it down with a satisfied huff. "Right! Strictly speaking, no magic allowed. Too many Muggles about, so we'll be pitching these tents the Muggle way!" He looked delighted at the prospect, as if this were an exciting challenge. "Here, Dahlia, where do you reckon we should start?"

Dahlia blinked, caught off guard by the question. She had never been camping in her life. The Dursleys had never taken her on holiday of any kind, much less a camping trip. She glanced uncertainly at the tents and poles.

"Erm... maybe Hermione and I can figure it out?" Dahlia offered.

"Brilliant idea!" Mr. Weasley said, oblivious to her hesitation.

Hermione, ever the resourceful one, stepped in to assist, and with some guidance from Remus, they worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go. The process wasn't without its challenges, though. Sirius and Mr. Weasley, far more enthusiastic than skilled, proved to be more of a hindrance than a help. Sirius, in particular, became enamored with the mallet, swinging it with a bit too much vigor and narrowly missing a peg.

"Maybe let the girls handle this part, Sirius," Remus suggested dryly, pulling the mallet out of Sirius's hands before he could do more damage.

After much effort, and a great deal of laughter, they finally managed to erect two shabby two-man tents. The group stood back to admire their handiwork.

"Well," Sirius said, brushing off his hands, "if anyone asks, this masterpiece was entirely my doing."

"Right," Dahlia said, rolling her eyes with a smirk. "Master tent-builder, Sirius Black."

Despite their weathered exteriors, the tents were a marvel inside. When Dahlia stepped into hers, her jaw dropped. The space opened up like a small house, complete with two bedrooms, a cozy kitchen, and a bathroom.

"This is incredible," Dahlia murmured, spinning slowly to take it all in.

"You'd think wizards would be better at exterior design," Hermione said, entering behind her. "It's always so... understated on the outside."

Ginny joined them, plopping her bag onto one of the beds. "Looks like we're rooming together, girls. I call this bed!"

Dahlia laughed. "Fair enough. Just don't snore, Gin."

Later that evening, the group gathered around a fire, cooking eggs and sausages. The smell of sizzling food filled the air as the sun set, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink.

Just as they started serving up plates, three figures emerged from the woods: Bill, Charlie, and Percy Weasley.

"About time!" Fred called out, waving a spatula in greeting. "Thought you lot got lost."

Bill and Charlie strode forward with easy confidence. Charlie had a stocky build, muscular arms, and a weather-beaten face freckled enough to give him a permanent tan. A shiny burn stretched across one arm, a clear mark of his work with dragons. He greeted everyone with a broad, good-natured smile.

Bill, however, was another story entirely. He was tall, with a laid-back aura that was impossible to ignore. His long hair was tied back into a ponytail, and an earring with a dangling fang glinted in the firelight. Dahlia felt her cheeks heat the moment her eyes landed on him.

"Well met, Heiress Potter," Bill said smoothly, his deep voice carrying a slight drawl. He extended a hand, which Dahlia took automatically.

"Well met, Lord Weasley," Dahlia replied, her voice steady despite her racing heart. She knew from Ron that Bill had claimed the Weasley lordship while Charlie had taken on the Prewett title.

Charlie grinned and shook her hand next. "I hear you're a Quidditch star in the making."

Dahlia smiled. "So they say."

Later that night, when they were back in their tent, Ginny and Hermione wasted no time teasing Dahlia about her interaction with Bill.

"Well, someone found the eldest Weasley brother very interesting," Hermione said, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"Oh, hush, Hermione," Dahlia said, throwing a pillow at her friend.

Ginny smirked from her bed. "You seemed pretty smitten, Dahlia. Blushing, stammering—"

"I did not stammer," Dahlia interrupted firmly, though her cheeks betrayed her.

"Still," Ginny continued, her tone playful, "you moved on from Nott pretty quickly, didn't you?"

At that, the room fell silent. Dahlia's smile faltered, and her gaze dropped to her hands. Ginny's teasing expression vanished instantly.

"I—I didn't mean—Dahlia, I'm sorry," Ginny said quickly.

"It's fine, Gin," Dahlia said softly, though her voice lacked its usual spark. "You're right. He's engaged. Why would I keep hanging on, waiting for someone who's already chosen someone else?"

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a look, but neither pressed the subject. As the tent grew quiet, Dahlia leaned back against her pillow, trying to push thoughts of Theo from her mind. But no matter how much she tried to convince herself she'd moved on, his face still lingered in her thoughts.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the campsite was buzzing with excitement, and the Ministry of Magic seemed to have given up on enforcing rules about subtlety. Wizards and witches were openly Apparating everywhere, carts and trays of magical merchandise popping into view every few feet. The air was filled with the hum of chatter and the occasional burst of magical music.

Salesmen hawked their wares enthusiastically: luminous rosettes in green for Ireland and red for Bulgaria that squealed out the names of the players, pointed green hats adorned with dancing shamrocks, and scarves that roared like lions. Flags waved merrily, playing the national anthems of their respective teams. There were tiny Firebolts zipping through the air, collectible figures of famous players strutting arrogantly across outstretched palms, and even enchanted face paints that applied themselves with a flick of the wand.

Dahlia, Ron, and Hermione wandered through the stalls, taking in the dazzling array of magical goods. Ron's eyes were wide with wonder, and he eagerly dove into his saved pocket money.

"I've been saving all summer for this," he told Dahlia as he purchased a large green rosette and a dancing shamrock hat. Yet, he couldn't resist also picking up a small figurine of Viktor Krum. The miniature Krum paced across his hand, glaring irritably up at the green rosette perched above him.

"Does he ever not look annoyed?" Dahlia teased, leaning closer to examine the tiny figure.

"Probably not," Ron said with a grin. "But you've got to admit, he's brilliant."

A few steps later, Dahlia's attention was caught by a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars covered in an array of knobs and dials. "Wow, look at these!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to inspect them.

"Omnioculars," the saleswizard said eagerly, stepping forward. "Top of the line! You can replay the action, slow everything down, even get a play-by-play breakdown as it happens. Perfect for the World Cup! A bargain at ten Galleons each."

Ron's face fell as he glanced between the Omnioculars and the dancing shamrock hat in his hand. "Wish I hadn't bought this now," he muttered, clearly longing for the Omnioculars.

"Three pairs," Dahlia said firmly to the saleswizard, reaching into her bag of gold.

"No, don't bother!" Ron protested immediately, shaking his head. "Dahlia, you don't have to—"

"Ron," Dahlia said, fixing him with a pleading look, "pleaseeee let me pay for it. It's the least I could do. You're always there for me."

Ron hesitated, his ears turning red. "It's what friends do, Lia. Be there for each other. But I can't let you—"

"Please," Dahlia begged, adding a pair of wide, puppy-dog eyes to her request.

Ron groaned, clearly fighting a losing battle. "Fine," he relented with a sigh.

"Yay!" Dahlia cheered, thrusting a pair of Omnioculars into Ron's hands and another into Hermione's.

"Oooh, thank you, Lia!" Hermione said, examining the knobs on the Omnioculars with delight. "This is incredible. Look, I'll get us some programs. There's a cart just over there!"

Their money bags considerably lighter but their spirits high, the trio made their way back to the tents. Sirius and Remus were waiting for them, both proudly decked out in Bulgarian colors. Sirius waved an Bulgarian flag with theatrical enthusiasm, while Remus wore a scarf emblazoned with roaring lions.

"You two look... patriotic," Dahlia teased as she approached.

"Well, someone has to balance out all the Irish over here," Sirius quipped, jerking his thumb toward the Weasleys. Bill and Charlie were wearing green rosettes, Ginny had a shamrock hat perched jauntily on her head, and Mr. Weasley was holding an enormous Irish flag.

"Traitors," Fred declared dramatically, eyeing Sirius and Remus with mock disapproval. "You've gone over to the other side."

"Hardly," Sirius retorted with a smirk. "I'm just here to watch Krum wipe the floor with your Irish team."

Fred and George exchanged identical grins. "Care to make a wager on that, Padfoot?"

"Absolutely not," Dahlia said firmly, stepping between the twins with an air of finality. "You two should steer clear of bets entirely. The one you made with Bagman was reckless enough, and I honestly can't fathom why you trusted him in the first place—especially after that fake ticket fiasco." Her emerald eyes narrowed, her tone sharp but tinged with concern.

Fred let out an exaggerated sigh, exchanging a dramatic look with George. "She's always spoiling our fun," he lamented, as if deeply wounded.

"Fun?" Dahlia shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what we're calling reckless gambling now? I'm keeping you out of trouble, and you know it." Despite her stern words, a small smile tugged at her lips.

George grinned, nudging Fred. "You hear that? Lia's the voice of reason now. Never thought we'd see the day."

"Someone has to be," Dahlia quipped, crossing her arms but unable to suppress her amusement. "And clearly, it's not going to be either of you."

Before anyone could reply, a deep, resonating gong echoed through the air, reverberating across the campsite. Lanterns in shades of green and red blazed into life among the trees, casting a warm glow and illuminating a winding path toward the stadium.

"It's time!" Mr. Weasley announced, his voice brimming with excitement. "Come on, let's go!"

The group fell into step, following the lantern-lit path through the woods. Dahlia found herself walking between Hermione and Ginny, the three of them chatting animatedly about the merchandise they'd seen. Ahead of them, Sirius and Remus debated the match's potential outcome, while Fred and George speculated on how their twins' bet would have gone if Dahlia hadn't intervened.

As the trees thinned, the group emerged onto a vast open field. Dahlia's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of the Quidditch World Cup stadium. It was enormous, towering above them like a magical coliseum, its walls shimmering with enchanted banners and moving images of players. The roar of the crowd was already audible, even from outside.

"Wow," Ginny whispered, her eyes wide with awe.

"This," Sirius said with a grin, draping an arm around Dahlia's shoulders, "is what it's all about, Prongslet."

Dahlia smiled, her earlier worries forgotten in the thrill of the moment. "Let's go," she said, her excitement matching the rest of the group's as they headed toward the stadium, ready for the night of a lifetime.

"Seats a hundred thousand," Sirius said, catching the awestruck look on Dahlia's face as she took in the massive structure. He grinned, clearly enjoying her amazement. "Ministry task force of five hundred worked on this all year. Every inch of it is covered in Muggle-Repelling Charms. The moment a Muggle gets too close, they suddenly remember an urgent appointment and rush off." He gestured expansively at the stadium, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, already teeming with shouting witches and wizards.

Remus chuckled softly, falling into step beside Dahlia. "You should have seen Sirius trying to sneak in early last month. He was almost on the wrong end of one of those charms."

Sirius feigned offense. "I was testing the security, Moony."

"Of course you were," Remus replied dryly.

At the entrance, a Ministry witch examined their tickets. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw who was in their party. "Prime seats! Top Box!" she announced, her voice tinged with reverence. "Straight upstairs, Lord Black, as high as you can go."

Dahlia hid a smile at the way Sirius puffed up at the title. He winked at her. "Nice to know they still respect the Black name."

The group climbed the purple-carpeted staircase, weaving through the bustling crowd. Bill, walking behind Dahlia, leaned down to speak in her ear. "You've got to admit, they've outdone themselves. First Quidditch World Cup?"

She nodded blushing, still wide-eyed. "It's incredible. I didn't know it could be this big."

Bill's smile was warm. "You'll never forget it, trust me."

"Let's keep moving!" Mr. Weasley called from ahead, his voice brimming with excitement.

After several minutes of climbing, they reached the Top Box, set at the highest point of the stadium. Dahlia gasped as she stepped inside. Rows of purple-and-gilt chairs awaited them, perfectly positioned halfway between the golden goalposts. The view was breathtaking. A sea of witches and wizards filled the seats below, the sheer size of the crowd staggering. Everything seemed to glow with a golden light, and the field itself looked smooth as velvet.

"Wow," Dahlia whispered, leaning forward slightly to take it all in.

Sirius, standing beside her, grinned. "Told you it was worth the climb."

"Look at the advertisements!" Ron exclaimed, pointing to the massive blackboard opposite them. It scrawled messages in shimmering gold: The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family! and Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!

"Honestly, Ron, you're more excited about the adverts than the match," Hermione said, rolling her eyes but smiling.

Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and began fiddling with the knobs. "These are brilliant! I can make people pick their noses over and over!" He demonstrated, laughing.

"That's disgusting," Dahlia said, scrunching her nose.

Sirius laughed heartily. "That's the spirit, Ron. Find the simple joys in life!"

The box began to fill with wizards, many of whom stopped to shake hands with Mr. Weasley, Sirius, or Remus. Percy was practically vibrating with excitement, standing every time someone important entered. He leapt up so often that Sirius leaned over to Dahlia and muttered, "If he bounces one more time, I might charm him to his seat."

"Don't you dare," Remus said, though his lips twitched with amusement.

Cornelius Fudge arrived next, greeting the group warmly. When he spotted Dahlia, he beamed. "Miss Potter! Always a pleasure. You're growing into quite the young lady." He introduced her to the Bulgarian Minister, who, upon noticing her scar, began babbling excitedly. Dahlia felt heat rise to her cheeks as the Minister gestured animatedly, pointing at her.

"Knew we'd get there eventually," Fudge said, patting her shoulder. "International diplomacy can be so tedious."

Dahlia caught Sirius's eye, and he rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "Diplomacy, my foot. He's just showing you off."

Before she could respond, the Malfoy family arrived. Lucius Malfoy, sleek and composed, swept into the box with his wife Narcissa and their son Draco. Sirius greeted Narcissa with a kiss on the cheek. "Cousin," he said, his tone polite but guarded. He offered Lucius a curt nod.

"Black," Lucius returned coolly, though he inclined his head. His gaze flicked to Dahlia, and a faint sneer touched his lips. "Miss Potter. How fortunate you're keeping such... distinguished company."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Dahlia replied, her tone icy.

"Lucius, behave," Narcissa said, giving him a light slap on the shoulder. "We're here to enjoy the match."

The tension eased as Lucius took his seat, though Draco shot Dahlia a venomous look before turning to his father. Ron muttered something under his breath about "slimy gits," and Dahlia had to stifle a laugh.

Moments later, Ludo Bagman burst into the box, his booming voice announcing the start of the match. The crowd roared as the mascots entered the field. When the Veela glided out, their unearthly beauty cast a spell over the entire stadium.

"What are they?" Dahlia asked, leaning closer to Sirius.

"Veela," he answered, smirking at her perplexed expression. "They're part of the Bulgarian team's charm offensive. Just wait until they get angry."

The veela had started to dance, their ethereal beauty mesmerizing. Some men in the stadium were already scrambling to climb the walls of their seating boxes, their eyes glassy.

"Dahlia, look at Ron," Hermione said in exasperation. Her voice seemed distant, barely cutting through the hypnotic hum of the veela's music.

Dahlia blinked and turned her head. Ron was halfway out of his seat, one leg hooked over the wall of the Top Box.

"Ron, what are you doing?" Dahlia asked, alarmed.

At that moment, the music stopped. Ron froze, then blinked several times. Slowly, he climbed back into his seat, confusion written all over his face.

"Blimey, what just happened?" he muttered, staring at his own hands as if betrayed by them.

"Exactly what happens when people don't control themselves," Hermione said, sharply tugging her own hat into place. "Honestly, you're embarrassing."

Sirius leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Don't feel bad, Ron. Happens to the best of us. Just ask Moony here."

Remus, seated to Sirius's left, raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall ever attempting to jump out of a box for a veela, Padfoot. But sure, let's rewrite history while we're at it."

"Sure, sure," Sirius teased, nudging his friend's arm. "Selective memory. Typical werewolf trait."

Bill Weasley, sitting between his father and Charlie, laughed. "Well, if you lot are done squabbling, maybe we can focus on the game? The leprechauns haven't even started yet."

Ludo Bagman's magically amplified voice boomed, drowning out their chatter. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

The stadium erupted into cheers as a massive green-and-gold comet streaked into the air, bursting into dazzling shapes and patterns. It circled the pitch before exploding into a shimmering shamrock.

"Here they come!" Bill said excitedly, pointing as thousands of tiny bearded men dressed in green vests descended. They carried golden lamps that flickered brilliantly, scattering sparkling coins into the crowd.

Ron scrambled to grab the coins raining down on their seats, shoving them into Dahlia's hands. "Here! For the Omnioculars!"

Dahlia rolled her eyes but pocketed the coins with a small smile.

"Have to admit, the leprechauns know how to put on a show," Sirius remarked, leaning forward. "Better than the veela any day. Less dangerous, too."

Remus chuckled softly. "Dangerous is your type, Sirius. You'd be first over that wall if you thought it'd impress them."

Before Sirius could retort, the Bulgarian mascots stepped forward, igniting a wave of angry yells from the Irish supporters.

"Round two," Bill muttered under his breath as the veela began dancing again.

"Fingers in your ears!" Mr. Weasley bellowed.

The veela's hypnotic dance had begun once more, their unearthly beauty captivating. Dahlia pressed her fingers into her ears tightly, determined not to look. Through her blurred vision, she noticed a few wizards around the box struggling to resist the allure.

Sirius, however, couldn't help laughing as he watched Hassan Mostafa, the referee, flex his muscles and smooth his mustache in front of the veela. "That poor bloke's lost the plot."

"Somebody slap him!" Dahlia exclaimed, laughing despite herself.

"Or dunk him in a bucket of cold water," added Bill, grinning.

As the match progressed, the group became more animated. Sirius and Bill shared tips on spotting fouls through the Omnioculars, while Remus quietly narrated tactics to Dahlia, whose knowledge of Quidditch was more theoretical than practical.

"See the way Krum's circling above Lynch?" Remus pointed out as the two Seekers entered another tense dive. "He's not looking for the Snitch there—he's faking Lynch out. Classic move."

"WRONSKI FEINT!" Sirius crowed, reading the letters flashing across his Omnioculars. "Krum's playing mind games, and Lynch is falling for it every time."

"I think Krum's brilliant," Dahlia said, leaning closer to catch a better look. "Look at how he moves—it's like he's part of the broom."

"That's years of dedication," Remus said with a touch of admiration in his tone. "He flies like a predator. It's not just skill; it's instinct."

Down below, the Irish team was pulling ahead, scoring goal after goal despite Bulgaria's attempts to match their ferocity. The leprechauns jeered and danced with delight, forming mocking words in the air.

"Never thought I'd see leprechauns flipping the bird," Sirius said, laughing as the mascots created a particularly rude gesture aimed at the veela.

"That's diplomacy for you," Remus added dryly.

The game grew fiercer by the second. Foul after foul was called, with both teams throwing caution to the wind. The crowd's cheers and jeers merged into a deafening roar.

"Ten Galleons says Ireland wins, even if Krum gets the Snitch," Bill declared, leaning back.

"Deal," Sirius said instantly, shaking Bill's hand.

Dahlia grinned, glancing over at her friends. "You two are incorrigible."

"And proud of it," Sirius replied with a wink.

As expected, Krum caught the Snitch, ending the match with Bulgaria trailing by ten points. The stadium erupted in chaos—celebrations from the Irish fans and bittersweet cheers from the Bulgarians.

Dahlia removed her Omnioculars, watching Krum descend, bloodied but triumphant. Despite his team's loss, his quiet dignity impressed her.

"You've got to hand it to him," Remus said, leaning back in his chair. "That's how you bow out with grace."

"Or a broken nose," Sirius quipped, earning a playful nudge from Remus.

The crowd thinned as the group made their way back to the campsite, laughter and cheers fading into the night air. Dahlia walked alongside Hermione and Ginny, her emerald eyes glinting with amusement behind her glasses. The evening chill nipped at her skin, and she tugged her cloak tighter.

"That was incredible," Ginny said, practically skipping as they followed the lantern-lit paths. "I mean, did you see Lynch after Krum caught the Snitch? He looked completely dazed!"

"And for good reason," Dahlia said, grinning. "That Bludger hit he took—he's lucky he could still fly. Though I've got to hand it to Krum, the way he handled that Snitch... perfection."

"Not perfect enough to win," Hermione pointed out, her tone teasing. "Ireland still crushed Bulgaria. He might be the best Seeker in the world, but strategy matters more than skill sometimes."

"Try telling that to Ron," Dahlia said with a laugh, glancing over her shoulder at the Weasley boys trailing behind them.

Sure enough, Ron's voice carried through the air as he gestured wildly, still buzzing from the match. "Did you see it, Fred? Krum didn't even blink! Just dove for it like—like—"

"A lunatic," Fred interjected, smirking.

"Like a genius," Ron insisted. "That's why he's the best! You lot just don't appreciate the artistry."

"Artistry," George echoed, shaking his head. "Right. We'll remember that the next time we see you faceplant on a broom."

Ahead of them, Sirius and Remus were deep in conversation, their voices a quieter counterpoint to the boisterous group. Remus carried a small bundle of wood under his arm, while Sirius lit the way with his wand, a faint glow illuminating his sharp features.

As they approached the tents, Sirius turned to the group. "Right, this is where we split up. You lot—" He gestured to the Weasley boys. "—try not to keep the entire campsite awake with your reenactments."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius cut him off with a grin. "Yes, I'm talking to you, Ron."

"We'll try to keep him quiet," Bill said with a laugh, nudging Ron toward their tent.

"Good luck," Ginny called after them before turning to Dahlia and Hermione. "Come on. Let's get to our tent before I freeze to death out here."

"Don't worry," Remus said, stepping up beside them. "Sirius is setting up a fire. We'll have cider ready in no time."

"Ah, Moony, you're too soft," Sirius said, clapping his friend on the back. "You're spoiling them."

"Someone has to," Remus replied with a small smile.

Dahlia smirked as she followed the girls toward their tent. "I don't know. I think I could get used to being spoiled."

"Don't let it go to your head," Sirius called after her, his tone teasing.

Inside the tent, it was warm and cozy, with soft blankets piled on their cots and a lantern casting a golden glow. Hermione immediately began fussing with the straps on her bag, muttering something about unpacking, while Ginny flopped onto her cot with a dramatic sigh.

"I can't believe we actually got to see the World Cup," Ginny said, staring up at the canvas ceiling. "It's like a dream."

"Except in my dreams, the Seeker I root for actually wins," Dahlia quipped, earning a laugh from Ginny and an exasperated look from Hermione.

"Priorities," Hermione muttered, though there was a smile tugging at her lips.

Moments later, a knock on the tent pole startled them. "Cider delivery!" Sirius's voice rang out.

Remus appeared in the entrance, carrying a tray of steaming mugs. "We thought you might like these before you turn in," he said, setting them down on a small table.

"Thanks, Remus," Hermione said warmly, taking a mug.

Dahlia accepted hers with a smile. "You're the best."

"Don't let him fool you," Sirius said, leaning casually against the tent flap. "He's just trying to secure your loyalty so you'll take his side in our next argument."

"Oh, it's working," Dahlia replied with a grin, raising her mug in mock salute.

Remus chuckled, his amber eyes crinkling at the corners. "Good night, girls. Try not to stay up too late."

As the men left, the girls settled into their cots, the warmth of the cider and the glow of the day's excitement filling the tent. Outside, the faint hum of the campsite carried on, but inside, it was peaceful—a perfect ending to a night they'd never forget... or so they thought.

The glow of leprechaun lanterns occasionally flitted across the ceiling of the girls' tent, casting faint, shimmering shadows. Dahlia lay between Hermione and Ginny, her hands behind her head, staring upward as her mind drifted. She couldn't stop replaying some of Krum's more spectacular moves, particularly his breathtaking Wronski Feint. She felt a thrill at the memory, itching to get back on her own Firebolt and try it herself.

Somehow, all of Oliver Wood's wriggling diagrams in Gryffindor strategy meetings had never quite captured the elegance and danger of the maneuver. Dahlia smirked faintly, imagining herself in robes with her name proudly emblazoned on the back. She could almost hear the deafening roar of a hundred-thousand-strong crowd and Ludo Bagman's voice booming, "I give you... Potter!"

She didn't remember falling asleep. Her daydreams of flying must have slipped seamlessly into dreams, because when she next became aware, it was to the sound of Remus's urgent voice shouting outside the tent.

"Get up! Lia, Ginny, Hermione—come on now, get up! This is urgent!"

Dahlia bolted upright, her heart racing. "What's the matter?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Ginny stirred groggily beside her, rubbing her eyes, while Hermione shot up immediately, reaching for her wand.

"Something's wrong," Remus said firmly as he entered the tent, pulling on a jacket over his pajamas. The look on his face was enough to snap them all to attention.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked, alarmed.

"No time for explanations—just grab your coats and get outside," he said, ushering them toward the tent flap. His amber eyes were sharp with urgency. "Quickly, now!"

Dahlia hastily pulled on her coat, skipping shoes altogether in her rush. She emerged into the cold night air with Hermione and Ginny close behind. The campsite, so full of life and joy earlier, had transformed into chaos.

The distant singing had been replaced with panicked screams and the sound of pounding footsteps. The firelight from scattered camps cast eerie shadows across the field. Through the darkness, Dahlia saw bursts of green light flashing like distant fireworks, followed by echoing cracks that reminded her of gunfire.

In the midst of the chaos, Dahlia felt herself being swept away by the frantic crowd. People pushed and shoved in their desperation to escape, their faces pale and stricken. She could hear Hermione's voice calling her name somewhere nearby, but the crowd was too thick, the noise too loud. Dahlia stumbled, trying to regain her footing, but someone crashed into her, sending her sprawling to the ground. Pain shot through her as she hit the hard earth, her wand slipping from her grasp and disappearing into the dark. She tried to get up, but the press of bodies was relentless. Feet stomped around her, some catching her limbs as she struggled. Her vision blurred, her head spinning from the chaos, and finally, everything went black.

When Dahlia regained consciousness, the night was eerily quiet around her, the sounds of distant shouts and screams muffled. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was or what had happened. Her head throbbed, and her body ached as she blinked up at the dark sky. Then she saw it—a man standing a few yards away, his wand pointed skyward.

"MORSMORDRE!" the man intoned, his voice sharp and cold.

A colossal green skull burst forth from his wand, composed of shimmering emerald stars. Its gaping mouth released a serpent, slithering out like a tongue, twisting and writhing as it climbed higher into the night. The Dark Mark, Dahlia realized with a jolt of fear. Her godfather, Sirius, had told her about it. It was Voldemort's symbol, a beacon of terror used by his followers. The Mark hung in the sky, casting an eerie green glow over the trees, like a terrible new constellation.

The man lowered his wand, a smirk playing on his lips as he surveyed his handiwork. Satisfied, he turned to leave. Dahlia's pulse raced as she struggled to her feet, every muscle protesting. She had to do something. She couldn't let him get away.

"Hey!" she shouted, her voice hoarse. She stumbled after him, but before she could take more than a few steps, familiar voices called out behind her.

"Dahlia! Oh, Merlin, there you are!" Hermione's voice was shrill with relief, and Dahlia turned to see Hermione and Ron running toward her.

"We've been worried sick! We thought we'd lost you!" Ron added, his face pale and drawn as he reached her.

Before Dahlia could respond, a sudden sound of footsteps made all three of them freeze. The crunching of leaves was followed by a sharp shout, and before they could react, a volley of red Stunners shot through the air toward them.

"Get down!" Dahlia yelled, grabbing Hermione's arm as they all dove for cover. The spells whizzed over their heads, striking the trees behind them with bursts of light.

"Stop!" came a furious shout, cutting through the chaos. Two familiar figures emerged from the shadows, pushing past the Aurors who had sent the spells.

"Sirius! Mr. Weasley!" Hermione gasped.

Sirius Black's pale face was twisted with anger as he strode forward, his wand clenched tightly in his hand. "STOP! That is my goddaughter!"

"And that's my son!" Mr. Weasley added, his usually kind face uncharacteristically stern.

Sirius dropped to his knees beside Dahlia, his hands gripping her shoulders as he looked her over. "Dahlia, are you hurt? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Sirius," she assured him, though her voice trembled slightly.

Ron and Hermione nodded quickly as Mr. Weasley pulled them into a brief but fierce hug. "We're fine, Dad," Ron said, though his voice betrayed his exhaustion.

"We came back for Dahlia," Hermione added, her voice still shaky.

Before they could say more, a cold voice interrupted.

"Which of you conjured the Mark?" It was Barty Crouch Sr., his eyes wild as he stepped forward, his wand trained on them.

Arthur stepped between the children and Crouch. "Crouch, they're just kids!" he said firmly.

"Do not lie!" Crouch snapped, his gaze darting between Dahlia, Ron, and Hermione. "You've been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

Sirius rose to his full height, his gray eyes flashing dangerously. "Watch your tone, Crouch. You're speaking to my goddaughter, the heiress of the Potter and Black families. Are you accusing her of this without evidence?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Dahlia said sharply, her voice cold and clear. "Why would you think three fourteen-year-olds could cast that? If you're so keen to solve this, why don't you try doing your job properly instead of making baseless accusations?"

Crouch's face twisted in fury, but before he could respond, Dahlia pointed toward the direction where the man had fled. "There was someone else—a man. He cast the Mark. He went that way!"

Crouch hesitated for a moment before signaling to the Aurors. "Search the area!" he barked. He shot one last glare at Sirius before stalking off with his men.

Minutes later, the group was joined by Remus Lupin, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and Ginny. Remus hurried over to Dahlia and Hermione, his worry etched deeply into his tired face.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking them over as if to check for injuries.

"We're fine, Remus," Dahlia assured him softly.

"It's late," Mr. Weasley said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "If your mother hears what's happened, she'll be worried sick. We'll rest for a few hours and take the earliest Portkey back home."

The group made their way back to the tents, Sirius and Remus walking protectively on either side of Dahlia. Despite her exhaustion, Dahlia lay awake for a long time, her thoughts racing with the events of the night.

Early the next morning, Remus gently shook Dahlia awake. His face was etched with lines of exhaustion, though his tone was calm. "Time to get up. We need to pack and get to the Portkey station early."

Dahlia groaned, rubbing her eyes. She glanced around the tent to see Hermione already up and pulling on her shoes, her hair even wilder than usual. Sirius was by the entrance, fastening the straps on a large bag and muttering something about how awful camping was.

"Morning," Hermione said quietly, offering Dahlia a small smile. "Ready?"

"Do I have a choice?" Dahlia muttered, though she swung her legs off the cot and began gathering her things.

Outside, the campsite was alive with a chaotic energy. Witches and wizards bustled about, calling to each other in anxious tones as they packed their belongings. A young wizard tripped over his tent pole, swearing loudly, while his mother scolded him for being careless. The air was thick with tension, the events of the previous night still fresh in everyone's minds.

The group made their way to the Portkey station, where a long queue had already formed. Mr. Weasley managed to navigate the crowd with practiced ease, speaking to Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, who looked harried and overwhelmed.

"Here we go!" Mr. Weasley called, holding up a battered rubber tire. "Everyone, gather round."

The group huddled together, each placing a hand on the tire. Ginny yawned as Fred muttered, "I'd rather fly, honestly."

"Three... two... one!" The familiar pull behind their navels yanked them off the ground, and moments later, they landed in a heap on Stoatshead Hill.

"Oof!" Ron groaned, brushing grass off his robes. "Does it ever get easier?"

"It's not supposed to be comfortable, Ronald," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes.

The walk back to the Burrow was quiet, the group too drained to hold much of a conversation. The early morning sun cast a soft golden glow over the countryside, but none of them seemed to notice. Dahlia, walking between Sirius and Remus, occasionally glanced at her godfather, who looked more tired than she had ever seen him.

"You okay, Sirius?" she asked softly.

He gave her a small, tired smile. "I'll be fine, Lia. You?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Just... still thinking about everything."

"Understandable," Remus said from her other side. "But you're safe now. That's what matters."

As they approached the Burrow, a cry echoed down the lane. "Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!" Mrs. Weasley came running toward them, her slippers flapping against the ground, her face pale and strained. She clutched a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet in one hand as she flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck.

"Arthur—I've been so worried!" she exclaimed, tears streaming down her face. She pulled back just enough to glance at the group, her eyes scanning each of them. "You're all right... you're alive... oh, boys..." To everyone's surprise, she grabbed Fred and George in a fierce hug, squeezing them tightly until they both yelped.

"Mum! Can't breathe!" Fred gasped.

"Mum, you're strangling us!" George added, though his tone was fond.

Mrs. Weasley released them, sniffling. "I shouted at you before you left! It's all I've been thinking about. What if... what if You-Know-Who had gotten you, and the last thing I ever said to you was about your O.W.L.s?"

Fred and George exchanged a glance, their usual mischief softened by the moment. "We're okay, Mum," Fred said gently.

Mr. Weasley wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders, guiding her back toward the house. "Molly, let's get inside. We'll talk over breakfast."

Inside the warm, familiar kitchen, the smell of toast and eggs filled the air. The family and their guests crowded around the table, where Sirius and Remus joined them, their presence a comforting anchor for Dahlia.

As they ate, conversation gradually picked up.

"Did you see the Daily Prophet this morning?" Mr. Weasley asked, unfolding the paper. The front page bore the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP. Beneath it was a moving black-and-white photo of the Dark Mark hanging over the treetops.

"Those reporters exaggerate everything," Sirius said with a snort, buttering his toast. "Though, to be fair, the Ministry isn't doing themselves any favors."

"Poor Basil looked like he'd rather vanish into thin air than deal with the crowd this morning," Bill added.

"They'll be cleaning up for weeks," Mr. Weasley said grimly. "And then there's the matter of how this happened in the first place..."

Dahlia pushed her food around her plate, her appetite gone. "Do you think they'll catch the man who cast it?" she asked quietly.

"They'll try," Sirius said, his tone serious. "But the fact that it happened at all... It's a bad sign."

Remus reached over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's not your burden to carry, Dahlia. The adults will handle it."

After breakfast, Sirius, Remus, and Dahlia prepared to leave. Hermione insisted on joining them, a bright determination in her eyes. "We said we'd spend time together over the summer, didn't we?"

Dahlia smiled, her spirits lifting slightly. "We did."

As they walked toward the fireplace to Floo back, Mrs. Weasley gave Sirius a pointed look. "You make sure they're safe, Sirius."

"I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise," he said with a wink, though his voice was steady and sincere.

One by one, the four of them stepped into the swirling green flames of the Floo Network, their voices calling out their destination as the chaos of the World Cup faded into the distance. When Dahlia emerged on the other side, stumbling slightly, she was met with the familiar warmth and tranquility of Havre de Paix.

The house stood as a comforting sanctuary, its ivy-covered stone walls and tall windows illuminated by the soft morning sunlight. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, carried by a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves of the surrounding trees. For the first time since the chaos of the World Cup, Dahlia felt her shoulders relax.

Hermione was already dusting herself off, looking entirely at home. "It's still just as lovely as I remember," she said, her voice calm but appreciative as she adjusted her bag. She turned to Dahlia with a small smile. "I told you this place feels magical on its own, didn't I?"

"It really does," Dahlia murmured, her gaze sweeping over the house and its serene surroundings.

Sirius stepped out next, brushing soot from his coat. "Home sweet home," he said with a grin, his tone carrying a note of pride and comfort. "I told you, Lia—this place has the best wards in Britain. You're safe here."

Remus arrived last, stepping through the flames with his usual calm demeanor. He straightened his coat and surveyed the scene, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I see Hermione hasn't lost her enthusiasm for Havre de Paix," he remarked lightly. "Though I can't blame her."

"Why would I?" Hermione replied, crossing her arms playfully. "It's the perfect escape from—well, all of that," she added, motioning vaguely as if to dismiss the nightmare they'd left behind.

Sirius ruffled Dahlia's hair as he walked past her. "You'll see why I keep this place so well-hidden. It's not just the wards—it's the peace." He glanced back, his gaze softening. "Exactly what we all need right now."

Dahlia nodded silently, letting her eyes linger on the serene landscape. The quiet beauty of Havre de Paix felt like a balm to the tension that had built up during the night. She turned to Hermione, grateful for her company and her familiarity with the place. "You were right. It's perfect."

Hermione's grin widened. "Wait until you see the garden again—it's even more beautiful in the daylight."

As they followed Sirius and Remus toward the house, Dahlia felt a flicker of relief. Here, surrounded by people she trusted and the comforting magic of Havre de Paix, the horrors of the night seemed to recede, if only for a little while.

The late morning sun bathed Havre de Paix in a golden glow, illuminating the cobblestone paths that wound through the estate. The terrace buzzed softly with life—the trill of enchanted songbirds flitting between the flowering vines, and the occasional hum of bees exploring the garden below. Enchanted roses, their petals glistening with morning dew, slowly turned to follow the sunlight as if in lazy appreciation.

At the center of it all, a table laden with food stood as the heart of this tranquil scene. Fresh baguettes, creamy cheeses, roasted vegetables, and a hearty stew were artfully arranged on elegant porcelain dishes. The aroma of warm bread mingled with the faint scent of lavender wafting up from the garden, complemented by glasses of chilled pumpkin juice and lemonade that sparkled in the sun.

Dahlia sat back in her chair, savoring a piece of buttered bread, when Hermione set her glass of lemonade down with deliberate care. Her eyes glimmered with mischief, and she leaned back casually, her smile teasing.

"You know," Hermione began, her voice laced with faux innocence, "I've noticed something recently."

Dahlia raised an eyebrow but didn't pause her methodical buttering of another slice of bread. "What exactly have you noticed, Hermione?" she asked, her tone skeptical.

"Oh, just how you seemed... very interested in Bill at the Burrow," Hermione said, her grin widening. "I mean I know you told Ginny and I that you found him attractive when you first met him at the World Cup but you didn't even try to hide it." 

 Dahlia's knife slipped, clattering against her plate. Her cheeks turned a soft pink as she glared at Hermione. "What? That's absurd! I don't—I mean, okay, fine, I think he's attractive, but that doesn't mean I have a crush on him!" She took a hasty sip of her lemonade, avoiding everyone's gaze. 

 Sirius, who had been halfway through a bite of cheese, immediately started coughing, his face contorting in mock agony. He set his fork down with a dramatic groan, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. "First Theodore Nott tries courting you but then gets himself engaged to that Greengrass heiress—good riddance, if you ask me. Then the Diggory boy has a crush on you, and now you're calling Bill attractive? Merlin's beard, Dahlia, do I need to start carrying a dueling wand just to keep the whole population of the boys in Hogwarts off you?" 

"Oh, but Bill's already graduated," Dahlia countered, rolling her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. "He's just cool and, yes, good-looking, but that's it. I'm not about to start chasing after him. Besides..." She trailed off, her expression flickering with a shadow of unspoken emotion before she quickly shook her head. "Wait—what do you mean Cedric has a crush on me?"

Sirius grumbled into his goblet of pumpkin juice, his expression darkening. "That boy couldn't have made it more obvious. Back at Stoatshead Hill, he was practically starry-eyed every time he talked to you. It was nauseating."

"Starry-eyed?" Dahlia repeated, incredulous. "That's ridiculous. Cedric's just... polite."

Remus chuckled softly, setting his napkin down. "I hate to admit it, Dahlia, but Sirius isn't wrong. Cedric's admiration for you was... noticeable."

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "It was! He kept finding excuses to talk to you, even when it made no sense. How did you not notice?"

Dahlia gaped at her friends, her voice rising slightly. "Because I thought he was just being nice! Why does everyone insist I'm some kind of romantic protagonist? First Theo, now Cedric, and Hermione thinks I'm swooning over Bill—what's next?"

"Because you are at the center of a romantic drama," Sirius interjected, pointing his fork at her. "And it's my duty as your godfather to fend these idiots off. Bill's attractive, Cedric's charming, and Theo—well, Theo doesn't count anymore, but that's not the point."

"Sirius," Remus said patiently, though there was a trace of amusement in his voice, "let her breathe. She's fourteen. Not every interaction needs to lead to a duel."

"Tell that to the boys lining up to court her!" Sirius shot back, gesturing wildly. "I'm just trying to keep her from becoming the center of some ridiculous wizarding soap opera!"

Dahlia groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "This is ridiculous. Can we please talk about something else? Like the weather? Or Quidditch? Or literally anything?"

Remus hid a smile behind his goblet, and Hermione laughed, unable to hold it back. Sirius, however, grinned wickedly. "Fine," he said, though the twinkle in his eyes promised this conversation wasn't truly over. "But don't think for a second I'm letting this go. Especially not if I see Diggory smiling at you again."

Hermione burst into laughter, and even Remus chuckled openly. Dahlia, despite her mortification, found herself smiling, the tension of the conversation easing under the warmth of their teasing.

Sirius leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. "So," he said with mock seriousness, "how's your French coming along? Have you been practicing like I asked you to?"

Dahlia tilted her chin up, feigning indignation. "Oui, Sirius. Bien sûr, je pratique. La langue est si belle, si tu veux mon avis," she replied, her voice smooth and confident as her French rolled off her tongue. (Yes, Sirius. Of course I practice. The language is so beautiful, if you ask me.)

"Ah, magnifique!" Sirius exclaimed, clapping his hands together dramatically. "Tu vois, Remus? Elle a déjà l'accent. Peut-être qu'un jour, elle me surpassera même." (You see, Remus? She already has the accent. Maybe one day, she'll even surpass me.)

"I wouldn't go that far," Remus said with a smirk. "But she's doing well."

Sirius leaned back, a roguish grin spreading across his face. "Of course she is. It's the language of love, after all. And let's be honest, how could anyone resist the sound of mon chéri murmured in their ear?" He turned to Remus with a dramatic sigh. "Remus can't."

"Sirius!" Remus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Hermione burst into laughter. "Do you ever stop?"

Dahlia, on the other hand, looked thoroughly scandalized. "Sirius! Tu es impossible!" (You're impossible!)

"Je sais, ma chère," Sirius replied, winking. (I know, my dear.)

"Can we please change the subject before this gets worse?" Dahlia begged, hiding her face in her hands while Hermione continued laughing.

Dahlia sighed, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. As the laughter bubbled around her, she couldn't help but feel grateful for moments like this. For all their teasing and absurdity, these were the people who made her feel safe, who made the weight of her world just a little lighter.

Later that week, the group ventured to Diagon Alley to pick up their Hogwarts supplies. Dahlia's excitement was palpable the moment they entered Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and spotted the section for dress robes.

"Look!" she exclaimed, rushing over to the racks of fabric in shimmering silks and soft velvets. "We need dress robes this year. This is the perfect excuse to splurge."

"You need one set of dress robes," Hermione reminded her, though she was smiling. "You're acting like there's a gala every weekend."

"Well, there could be," Dahlia said dramatically, holding up a deep emerald gown and spinning on her heel. "And Sirius doesn't mind, do you?"

"Not at all," Sirius replied, lounging by the counter with a smirk. "Buy the whole shop if you want."

"You're enabling her," Hermione accused playfully.

"I call it supporting fashion sense," Sirius said with a wink.

Hermione took longer to choose her dress robes, initially protesting when Sirius offered to pay. "You've already done so much," she said shyly. "I really can't—"

"Enough of that," Sirius said, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. "You're practically family, Hermione. Besides, Dahlia would never forgive me if I didn't let you pick something fabulous."

Hermione finally relented, settling on a periwinkle blue set of robes. As they left the shop, arms laden with packages, Sirius announced, "Lunch is on me. I know just the place."

They spent the afternoon at Château Mystère, enjoying another lively meal filled with laughter and teasing. Though Sirius grumbled about boys and Dahlia tried her best to deflect, the warmth of their bond made it clear: they were a family in all the ways that mattered.

Chapter Text

It was September 1st, and the morning at Havre de Paix was tinged with bittersweet excitement. It was time to return to Hogwarts. Sirius had left early for the Ministry, called to an emergency Wizengamot session, leaving Dahlia in a sour mood as she toyed with her breakfast. Despite her annoyance, she perked up as Remus ushered her and Hermione into the car, ready to take them to King's Cross Station.

When they arrived at the bustling station, the familiar scarlet Hogwarts Express stood waiting, steam billowing into the air. The platform was alive with the chatter of students and their families. Hermione and Dahlia were unloading their trunks when a familiar laugh caught their attention.

To Dahlia's surprise, Bill and Charlie Weasley were there, standing beside Mrs. Weasley and chatting animatedly with Fred and George. Ginny spotted her first and rushed forward to give her a hug, followed quickly by Ron and the twins.

Dahlia greeted them with a warm smile and turned to Mrs. Weasley. "Where's Mr. Weasley?" she asked as Mrs. Weasley pulled her into a tight embrace.

"He had some Ministry business to attend to—likely the same thing Sirius was summoned for," Mrs. Weasley explained.

"Unfortunately," Dahlia sighed.

As she greeted Bill and Charlie, curiosity got the better of her. "Shouldn't you two also be at the Ministry?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Charlie grinned. "Nah, we're avoiding that chaos for now."

"We haven't claimed our Wizengamot seats yet," Bill explained, his posture relaxed but his tone professional. "Working abroad kept us from formally stepping into those roles."

"Convenient," Dahlia teased, her lips curving into a smirk.

Bill chuckled. "What can I say? We like to keep life interesting."

The Hogwarts Express's whistle pierced through the platform's lively hum, signaling that it was time to board. Dahlia, Hermione, and Ron had already stowed their luggage in a compartment but lingered on the platform for their goodbyes.

Charlie pulled Ginny into a warm hug, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," he said, his tone cryptic.

"Why?" Fred asked, tilting his head.

"You'll see," Charlie replied, grinning as he ruffled Fred's hair. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it. 'Classified information,' you know."

Nearby, Bill stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the train. He sighed lightly, a wistful expression crossing his face. "I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year."

"Why?" George pressed, his impatience bubbling over.

Bill's eyes twinkled as he glanced at Dahlia. "Let's just say you're in for an interesting year. I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it."

"A bit of what?" Ron demanded, curiosity written all over his face.

Before Bill could reply, the whistle blew sharply again, prompting Mrs. Weasley to chivvy them all toward the train.

As the group began their farewells, Hermione turned to Remus, a sincere expression on her face. "Professor Lupin—Remus," she began, catching his attention, "I just wanted to thank you again for letting me stay with you and Sirius for the rest of the summer. It really meant a lot to me."

Remus's kind smile deepened, and he shook his head gently. "Hermione, it was our pleasure. You were a wonderful guest. Sirius enjoyed having someone around who didn't argue with him every five minutes."

Hermione chuckled softly. "Well, I tried my best. And... thank you for the books you recommended. They'll be a great help this year, I'm sure."

"I'm glad you found them useful," he said warmly. Then, with a teasing glint in his eye, he added, "And remember, if Sirius writes to you complaining about being bored, just send a simple response: read a book."

Hermione laughed, her cheeks coloring slightly. "I'll keep that in mind."

Remus's expression softened as he added, "You're always welcome with us, Hermione. Don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything. And keep an eye on Dahlia, will you?"

Hermione glanced at Dahlia, who was chatting animatedly with Bill and Charlie. "I will," she said resolutely. "She's lucky to have you looking out for her."

Meanwhile, Dahlia approached Remus, stepping away from Bill's teasing grin. She reached up to hug him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. "I'm going to miss you," she said softly.

Remus patted her back gently, his voice warm but firm. "I'll miss you too, Lia. But you'll write, won't you?"

Dahlia nodded against his shoulder before pulling back, her eyes bright. "Of course. And tell Sirius he owes me for leaving without saying goodbye."

Remus chuckled. "I'll make sure to remind him. Though he'll likely blame it on urgent Wizengamot business."

Dahlia rolled her eyes playfully. "Excuses, excuses."

Remus's tone turned slightly more serious as he added, "Look after yourself, alright? Hogwarts might feel a little...different this year."

Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head. "What does that mean? Bill said something similar."

With a soft laugh, Remus said, "You'll find out soon enough. Just trust yourself and stay vigilant. And don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it."

Dahlia smiled, her usual confidence shining through. "I'll be fine, Uncle Moony. Besides, Hermione won't let me slack off, and Ron will keep things... unpredictable."

"That's what I'm worried about," Remus teased. "Now, go on before the train leaves without you."

She gave him one last tight hug, then climbed onto the train. Leaning out of the window, she waved enthusiastically. "Bye, Uncle Moony! Don't let Sirius get into too much trouble!"

"I make no promises," he called back, waving as the train began to pull away. His figure grew smaller as he stepped back toward the barrier, giving one last wave before disappearing from view.

Dahlia turned back to their compartment, settling into her seat with a wistful expression. Hermione glanced at her knowingly. "Get everything out of your system?" she asked.

Dahlia sighed, leaning her head back against the seat as the misty countryside blurred past the window. "Yeah. I'm good."

Ron had just started rifling through his trunk when the trolley came by, laden with sweets. Dahlia's eyes lit up as she immediately bought a stack of Chocolate Frogs, much to Ron's amusement.

"You'd think you'd never seen chocolate before," he teased, tossing a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean into his mouth.

"Chocolate is a necessity," Dahlia said, defending her purchase as she unwrapped a Frog and pocketed the card. "You never know when you'll need a little pick-me-up."

Before long, the compartment door slid open, and Cedric Diggory appeared with a group of his Hufflepuff friends, stopping by the trolley. Dahlia glanced up, meeting Cedric's eyes, and he smiled brightly at her.

"Hey, Dahlia," he said, his tone warm as he waved.

"Hi, Cedric," she replied, caught slightly off guard but smiling back.

As he walked back to his compartment, Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Starry-eyed Cedric strikes again."

"Oh, hush," Dahlia muttered, but the slight flush on her cheeks betrayed her.

"Well, better him than Nott," Ron said, his voice cutting through the train's rhythmic clatter. Dahlia, who had been staring out of the window, blinked and suddenly remembered something.

Back on the platform, before the train had departed, Bill had caught her arm gently as they were saying their goodbyes.

"Lia," he began, his tone softer than usual, a touch of concern hidden beneath his usual charm. "Stay out of trouble this year, yeah? The three of you."

Dahlia raised an eyebrow at him, amused. "Me? Us? Trouble? Never."

Bill chuckled, leaning in with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "Right, because you're all beacons of calm and good behavior," he teased. His expression turned serious for a moment, his gaze steady. "I'm serious, Lia. You three seem to have a knack for attracting chaos. Just—if anything happens, you can always owl me."

For a moment, Dahlia felt the warmth of his sincerity and gave him a small smile. "Thanks, Bill. That means a lot."

"Anytime," he replied, his grin returning as he winked. She couldn't help but feel momentarily flustered, though she masked it quickly as he stepped back, his easy charm lingering even as he moved away.

The memory shifted as she recalled another interaction on the platform. Just as she had been about to step onto the train, her gaze had been drawn to Theo. He was standing near Daphne Greengrass, who clung to his arm while bidding her family an overly affectionate farewell. His expression was blank, unreadable, but his eyes found hers across the bustling platform.

For a moment, they locked eyes, an unspoken tension sparking between them. Dahlia narrowed her eyes and rolled them with exaggerated disdain before turning sharply and stepping onto the train without a second glance. She could still feel his gaze on her back as she walked down the corridor, her hands clenching as she goes to their compartment

Back in the Gryffindor compartment, Dahlia shook her head sharply, trying to dispel the unwelcome image of Theo's piercing gaze from earlier. "That git," she muttered under her breath, the frustration simmering in her tone.

"What git?" Ron asked, perking up with sudden interest. He leaned forward, eager for any bit of drama.

"Nott," Dahlia replied, the name dripping with disdain.

"What about him?" Hermione asked, putting down her book, her curiosity piqued.

Dahlia let out a frustrated groan, throwing her head back against the seat. "He—ugh, why does he have to look so good?! How am I supposed to get over him when he looks like that?"

Hermione arched an eyebrow, a knowing smile creeping across her face. "So you do still like him. I knew you were lying when you told Ginny and me you were over him."

Dahlia scowled, crossing her arms defensively. "Of course, I still like him! How am I supposed to just move on after a whole year of spending time together? Honestly, how can he just throw away everything we had and get engaged to Greengrass of all people? And—and—he even took my first kiss!"

Ron's face turned red, caught between embarrassment and annoyance. "It wasn't even a proper kiss," he muttered, avoiding Dahlia's glare. "And haven't you forgotten? It was your fault."

"That's beside the point!" Dahlia shot back, her voice rising in exasperation. She buried her face in her hands before letting out a muffled, anguished groan. "I hate that I love him."

Hermione reached over, placing a hand on Dahlia's arm, her expression softening. "You know, it's okay to feel like this, Dahlia. But you can't let him ruin your year. You're stronger than that."

"Yeah," Ron added, though his tone was less comforting and more practical. "Forget about him. He's a Slytherin git who doesn't deserve your time."

Dahlia pulled her hands away from her face and gave them a half-hearted smile. "Thanks, guys. But it's hard when every time I see him, all I can think about is—" She stopped herself, shaking her head as if to physically shake away the thought. "Never mind."

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin compartment, tension hung in the air as Theo leaned back in his seat, staring out the window with a distant expression.

"Thank Salazar Greengrass isn't sitting with us," Pansy said, breaking the silence. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, her annoyance clear.

"Seriously," Blaise Zabini added with a dramatic sigh. "I don't think I could handle her bossing us around again. We barely exchanged pleasantries until earlier, and she was already giving orders like she owns the place. Imagine me, Blaise Zabini, being bossed around by Daphne Greengrass. Unthinkable."

"Honestly, Theo," Draco drawled from his spot, his cold grey eyes narrowing slightly. "How could you agree to get engaged to her? I thought you were courting Potter. And honestly," he added with a smirk, "I'd have preferred Potter over Greengrass. At least she has some fire."

Pansy let out a laugh, clearly enjoying the jab. "And that's saying something, because Draco Malfoy hates Dahlia Potter."

Theo finally turned his gaze from the window, his expression grim. "My father forced me," he admitted, his voice flat. "I told him I was courting someone, and he said I needed to end it. Daphne's family is influential, neutral, and can offer protection if another war breaks out. After what happened at the World Cup, he's more paranoid than ever."

Blaise frowned thoughtfully. "But if your father's so concerned about protection, wouldn't Potter be a better match? She's not just powerful, she's influential. Heiress to the Potter and Black houses? She's got the whole package."

Theo shook his head, his jaw tightening. "That's the thing—I never told him it was Dahlia."

Draco groaned, throwing his hands up. "For Merlin's sake, Nott, you could've avoided all this if you'd just told your father you were courting Dahlia Potter."

"No, I couldn't," Theo replied firmly. "Even if I had, he wouldn't have agreed. Dahlia Potter isn't just some heiress—she's a target. She stopped the Dark Lord in 1981. If he ever comes back to power, she'll be his number-one enemy. My father wouldn't risk it."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "You're acting like this whole thing is set in stone. If you're so miserable, break it off."

Theo ran a hand through his hair, frustration flickering in his eyes. "Do you think I'm not trying? Daphne isn't exactly eager to call it off. And it doesn't help that she wants me."

Blaise smirked, clearly enjoying Theo's predicament. "Theodore Nott: so desirable even his arranged fiancée won't let him go."

Gregory Goyle, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, chimed in hesitantly. "Didn't you tell us you've loved Dahlia since first year?"

Theo's expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "I have," he admitted quietly. "And I'd face any danger for her. But this marriage—my father, Daphne, everything—it's a mess. I don't know how to fix it yet, but I'm going to try."

Draco leaned back with a scoff. "You'd better figure it out quickly, Nott. Because if I know Potter—and unfortunately, I do—she's not the type to wait around forever."

Theo didn't reply, his mind already racing with thoughts of Dahlia, her sharp gaze, and the way she had rolled her eyes at him on the platform. If nothing else, he knew one thing for certain: he wouldn't give her up without a fight.

As the train doors opened, a deafening rumble of thunder rolled overhead. The downpour was relentless, as if the skies themselves had decided to unleash buckets of ice-cold water over their heads. Hermione clutched Crookshanks tightly under her cloak, and Ron draped his dress robes over Pigwidgeon's cage as they all stepped off the train, heads bent against the storm.

"This is ridiculous!" Dahlia huffed, her dark hair plastered to her face as raindrops ran down her glasses. "I'll hex the first person who says 'lovely weather for ducks.'"

"Hi, Hagrid!" she yelled, catching sight of the giant silhouetted at the far end of the platform.

"All righ', Lia?" Hagrid bellowed back, his voice booming over the storm. "See yeh at the feast—if we don' drown first!"

"First years in this weather? Poor things," Hermione murmured, shivering as they made their way along the slippery platform.

The horseless carriages waited outside the station, their skeletal Thestrals invisible to all but a few. Dahlia, Ron, Hermione, and Neville clambered gratefully into one of the carriages.

As the door snapped shut, Dahlia winced. "Merlin, my shoes are already soaked. If these are ruined..."

"They're just shoes," Ron muttered, wringing out his sleeves.

Dahlia fixed him with a glare so sharp it could have cut glass. "Just shoes? These are custom-made dragonhide loafers! I had to special-order them from Milan!"

Ron wisely chose silence, and the carriage lurched forward, swaying precariously in the growing gale.

Through the rain-streaked windows, Hogwarts loomed closer, its myriad glowing windows blurred by the storm. Lightning illuminated the castle as they pulled up to the stone steps of the entrance hall.

Once inside, the warmth of the cavernous hall was a welcome relief—until chaos erupted.

A massive, water-filled balloon plummeted from the enchanted ceiling of the corridor and struck Ron squarely on the head, exploding in an icy cascade. He let out a strangled yelp, staggering sideways into Dahlia, who barely managed to steady herself before disaster struck again. Another balloon burst at her feet, unleashing a tidal wave of freezing water that soaked her prized leather shoes, leaving them squelching and utterly unrecognizable.

"My SHOES!" Dahlia shrieked, her voice slicing through the cacophony of laughter and gasps. "These are ruined! RUINED! Do you have any idea how much they cost?" She glared at Ron, as though it were somehow his fault, while wringing out the hem of her robes in furious, jerky motions.

Her outburst was met with a chorus of giggles from the crowd, but it was nothing compared to the howls of laughter coming from the poltergeist responsible. Peeves zipped overhead, his ghostly form gleaming as he twirled through the air, clutching a bucket that sloshed ominously with water.

"PEEVES!" Dahlia bellowed, her wand already in her hand, her emerald eyes blazing. "You absolute menace! I'll hex you into next week for this!"

"Peevesy's made a splash!" he sang, tipping the bucket just enough to sprinkle droplets over a group of nearby Hufflepuffs, who scattered like startled pigeons.

Before Dahlia could launch a spell at him, her wet fingers slipped on her wand, and she nearly dropped it. Peeves, noticing her fluster, cackled even louder, performing an obnoxious loop-de-loop above her head.

"PEEVES, COME DOWN HERE AT ONCE!" Professor McGonagall's sharp voice cut through the chaos like a thunderclap. The crowd fell silent for a moment, save for the faint dripping of water pooling on the stone floor.

Peeves, undeterred, tilted his hat to McGonagall in mock courtesy. "Oh, Minnie, you ruin all the fun," he drawled, before lobbing another water balloon directly at a cluster of second-years. They squealed and ducked as the balloon exploded, sending water cascading down the marble staircase.

"I SAID ENOUGH!" McGonagall's voice was now dangerously low, her expression brooking no argument. She flicked her wand, sending a bright jet of red sparks toward Peeves, who dodged them with the agility of a mischievous sprite.

"Missed me, Minnie!" Peeves taunted, sticking out his tongue as he zipped higher into the rafters, his raspy laughter echoing.

"Move along, everyone!" McGonagall snapped, shooing the wet, bedraggled students toward the Great Hall. "This is neither the time nor place for your theatrics!"

Ron shuffled forward, his cheeks burning as he muttered apologies to Dahlia, who was still fuming. She muttered something under her breath about "idiots and poltergeists" as she stormed ahead, her ruined shoes squelching noisily with each step.

"Next time," Ron said weakly, glancing upward for more balloons, "I'll bring an umbrella."

"Next time, you'll stay out of my way," Dahlia snapped, throwing him a glare so icy it rivaled the water dripping from her hair.

"Merlin's beard, sometimes I wish she'd never discovered her love for fashion," Ron grumbled under his breath, glancing at Dahlia as she stomped ahead, still muttering angrily about her shoes. "It's like she turns into an entirely different person the moment something gets ruined."

Neville, who had been wringing out the edge of his soaked cloak, gave a sympathetic nod. "Yeah, but you've got to admit, she's got a point. Those shoes looked expensive."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Expensive or not, they're just shoes. She acts like the world's ending every time something gets so much as a scratch."

Neville shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "I mean, if you had something you really cared about—like, say, your Chudley Cannons poster—and Peeves tore it to shreds, wouldn't you lose it too?"

"That's different!" Ron protested. "That's... sentimental. And it's the Cannons! Shoes don't—well, they don't mean anything."

Neville chuckled quietly. "Tell that to Dahlia. Pretty sure her shoes mean more to her than most people."

Ron groaned, running a hand through his wet hair. "Great. Now I feel like a prat. Should I—should I say something to her? Apologize or whatever?"

Neville raised his eyebrows. "For what? Peeves threw the balloon, not you."

"Yeah, but I—" Ron hesitated, glancing at the back of Dahlia's head as she stomped through the corridor, her sodden hair sticking to her neck. "I did bump into her, and that probably didn't help..."

"Good luck," Neville said, patting Ron on the shoulder with a half-smile. "If you're brave enough to face her right now, you're braver than I am."

"Braver than you?" Ron snorted, trying to mask his reluctance with humor. "That's not saying much."

Neville chuckled but said nothing, leaving Ron to wrestle with his own indecision. Ahead, Dahlia let out another frustrated huff as she reached down to inspect her squelching shoes, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a threat to hex Peeves into oblivion.

"Yeah," Ron muttered under his breath. "She's not going to make this easy, is she?"

The Great Hall was a welcome reprieve, its warmth dispelling the chill of the storm. Dahlia slipped off her drenched shoes, muttering furiously under her breath as she tried to dry them with a charm. She caught sight of Theo Nott across the hall, seated at the Slytherin table. Their eyes met briefly—his expression impassive, hers icy. With a faint lift of his brow, he looked away as though she weren't worth his notice.

"Git," Dahlia muttered under her breath.

"What?" Ron asked, halfway through shaking water out of his hair.

"Nothing," she snapped, shoving her shoes under the table.

The Sorting Ceremony began, with Colin Creevey beaming as his younger brother, Dennis, was sorted into Gryffindor.

Dinner followed, and while the food was excellent, Dahlia's mood remained sour. She barely acknowledged Colin's excited chatter about his brother and instead kept glancing at her ruined shoes with a tragic expression.

After dinner, Dumbledore rose to his feet, the calm serenity of his expression unchanged despite the evening's earlier chaos. The storm outside seemed to echo his presence, its thunder rumbling faintly as the students quieted. Candlelight flickered across the Great Hall as all eyes turned to him.

"Now that we are all fed and watered," he began, his tone light yet commanding, "a few notices..."

Dahlia only half-listened, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the damp tablecloth. Filch's latest additions to the list of banned items barely registered. Honestly, who still tries to sneak in Skiving Snackboxes? She glanced sideways at Fred and George, who were whispering conspiratorially despite Filch's warnings.

Her attention snapped back to Dumbledore as he paused, his expression momentarily tinged with regret. "It is my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"What?!" Dahlia's gasp sliced through the murmurs of disbelief, and she shot to her feet, palms slamming onto the table. Her emerald eyes blazed as she whipped her head toward Fred and George. "First my shoes, and now this? Salazar's beard, what next—are they planning to cancel magic altogether?"

Fred and George looked equally outraged, their mouths hanging open in shock. "This is an outrage," Fred declared. "Quidditch isn't just a game, it's a way of life!"

"Forget Peeves, Dumbledore's the real menace," George muttered, though his eyes twinkled with mischief.

Dumbledore raised his hand, and the hall fell silent again. "The reason for this decision," he continued, "is due to an event that will be taking place this year—one of great tradition and significance. I am pleased to announce that Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament."

Gasps of excitement rippled through the hall, replacing the earlier groans of disappointment. Students leaned forward eagerly, excanging murmurs about the legendary competition. Dahlia, however, crossed her arms, her expression skeptical. "A tournament better be worth it," she muttered, sinking back into her seat. "Still doesn't fix the fact that Quidditch is gone."

During the announcements, Dumbledore had revealed their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. His reputation preceded him, and the murmurs in the Great Hall were filled with both awe and unease. Moody's mismatched eyes scanned the students, one swiveling unnervingly as if cataloging potential threats. Dahlia couldn't help but be intrigued, though her interest quickly waned when her thoughts drifted back to the day's earlier mishaps.

After dinner, the Gryffindors made their way back to their common room. The chatter was lively, fueled by the excitement of the Triwizard Tournament and Moody's unsettling presence. Dahlia lingered at the back of the group, her damp socks squelching with every step, her mood as stormy as the weather outside.

Just as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, a hand wrapped firmly around Dahlia's arm. She turned sharply, ready to snap, but before she could utter a word, she was pulled down from the stairs and led to a side corridor. The laughter and footsteps of her housemates faded as she was led into the quiet shadow of a deserted hallway.

"What the hell—" she began, wrenching her arm free. She froze when she got a proper look at her captor. Theodore Nott stood before her, his dark hair slightly disheveled, his usually composed expression betraying a flicker of hesitation.

"Theo?" she spat his name like venom, her voice low and sharp. "What do you want?"

The hallway seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with unspoken tension. Theodore's calm mask slipped slightly, revealing the barest trace of unease. He hesitated, his jaw tightening before he finally spoke.

"I needed to talk to you," he said, his voice steady but quiet, as though he feared being overheard.

Dahlia laughed bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. "You needed to talk? Funny, you didn't seem to feel the need to talk when you—oh, I don't know—got engaged this summer."

"Cara—"

"Don't." Her voice cut through the air like a blade. "Don't call me that. You don't get to call me that. Not after what you did."

Theodore's shoulders tensed. "I didn't—"

"You didn't what? Lead me on?" Dahlia's voice rose, her emerald eyes blazing with fury. "You gave me a gift last term, Theo. A gift of intent. And then—what? Over the summer, you decide, 'Oh, never mind, I'll just pledge myself to Daphne Greengrass'? Was I just a distraction for you? Something to pass the time?"

Theodore took a step closer, his hands twitching at his sides as though he wanted to reach out but thought better of it. "It wasn't like that."

"Oh, wasn't it?" Dahlia scoffed, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Then enlighten me, Nott. What was it like? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you played me for a fool."

"Dahlia, please, just listen to me," Theodore said, his voice low and urgent. "It's not what you think."

"Not what I think?" she repeated, her laugh hollow. "What am I supposed to think, Theo? That you were just toying with me? That you found it amusing watching me fall for your charms, only to toss me aside when duty called?"

Theodore's expression hardened, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of guilt. "I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," Dahlia shot back, her voice cracking slightly. "And you made yours. So don't stand here and act like the victim."

He opened his mouth to respond but faltered, his words catching in his throat. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the weight of things left unsaid.

Finally, Dahlia shook her head, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "You don't get to do this, Theo. You don't get to pull me into some empty corridor and pretend you care. Not anymore."

Before he could say another word, she turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the stillness. Theodore didn't follow. He stood there in the dim corridor, watching her retreating figure until she disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone with his regrets.

Chapter Text

The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, but the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall remained a moody swirl of pewter-gray clouds. Students bustled in, their chatter mingling with the clatter of plates and the rich aroma of breakfast. At the Gryffindor table, Dahlia, Ron, and Hermione leaned over their freshly distributed schedules, their conversation weaving through the general din.

A few seats away, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were animatedly plotting their latest scheme. Their voices, hushed but excited, carried fragments of their discussion about magical ways to age themselves and bluff their way into the highly anticipated Triwizard Tournament.

"Today's not too bad . . . outside all morning," Ron said, tracing his finger down the Monday column of his schedule. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, Care of Magical Creatures . . ." His face soured. "Damn it, we're still stuck with the Slytherins for that one. And—ugh—Double Divination this afternoon." He groaned dramatically, dropping his schedule onto the table like it physically hurt him.

"You should've dropped Divination like I did," Hermione said briskly, slicing into a piece of toast and buttering it with an almost militant precision. "Then you'd be doing something sensible, like Arithmancy or Ancient Runes."

Ron snorted, eyeing her growing stack of toast. "You're eating again, I see."

Hermione's glare could have rivaled McGonagall's. "I've decided there are better ways of making a stand for elf rights," she said primly, before taking an assertive bite of jam-slathered toast.

"Yeah," Ron said, smirking. "And you were hungry."

Before Hermione could retort, a sudden rustling filled the hall. A hundred owls swept through the open windows, their wings beating rhythmically as they dove to deliver the morning post. Instinctively, Dahlia tilted her head back, watching the flurry of feathers.

Nearby, a large tawny owl landed with a thud in front of Neville Longbottom, dropping a lumpy parcel into his lap. Neville, flustered as always, fumbled with the strings, his cheeks turning red. Across the room, Draco Malfoy's sleek eagle owl perched on his shoulder, depositing a neatly wrapped package likely brimming with sweets and luxurious goods from home.

Dahlia's focus shifted when Hedwig soared gracefully toward her, landing lightly on the table with an elegant flutter of her snowy wings. Clutched in her talons was a neatly wrapped parcel tied with a deep crimson ribbon. Her heart skipped as she untied the accompanying letter, her lips curling into a smile at the familiar handwriting.

Dear Lia,

This arrived yesterday and was supposed to be your Yule gift, but since you very loudly complained last night about your ruined dragonhide loafers, we decided you needed this now. Don't worry—we'll find you another present for Yule.

It's custom-made—Sirius sketched the design himself (which he's annoyingly proud of). We hope you love it as much as he does.

Love,
Sirius and Remus

Dahlia let out a delighted squeal that rang through the Great Hall, turning more than a few heads in her direction. Unbothered by the curious and envious glances, she tore into the parcel with eager hands. As the wrapping fell away, she gasped, her emerald eyes widening with delight.

Inside lay a stunning pair of custom-made dragonhide shoes. The sleek black leather seemed to shimmer faintly in the light, catching the enchanted ceiling's swirling gray above. Intricate silver stitching traced along the edges, forming subtle patterns of stars and constellations. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and the shoes looked both elegant and impossibly sturdy.

"AHHHH, new shoes!" Dahlia cried, holding them up triumphantly. Her voice carried over the clamor of breakfast, drawing even more attention. Her excitement was palpable, and her face glowed with joy. Around her, students stared in open admiration—or, in some cases, jealousy.

"Oh my Merlin," Hermione said, leaning closer to inspect the shoes. "They really do spoil you, don't they?"

"Don't they?" Dahlia agreed, still admiring the shoes. "Look at the stitching—Sirius said he designed these himself!"

"Dragonhide?" Hermione noted, her brow furrowing slightly. "Those must've cost a fortune."

"Well, duh," Ron muttered, chewing on a mouthful of toast. "They're practically swimming in gold, those two. Makes sense they'd send her something this flashy."

Dahlia shot Ron a playful glare as she slid one shoe onto her foot. "It's not flashy; it's tasteful. And, if you must know, they felt bad about my other ones being ruined."

"Oh, right," Ron said, smirking. "They're compensating. One of these days, you're going to turn into a proper spoiled brat."

Hermione swatted his arm. "Honestly, Ron, stop being so rude. She's not spoiled—she just knows how to appreciate a thoughtful gift."

Dahlia stuck her tongue out at Ron before slipping on the second shoe. She stood up, testing the fit with a few steps. "They're perfect!" she declared, twirling slightly. "Sirius and Remus are the best!"

A few students at neighboring tables were still watching. Ginny leaned over from down the Gryffindor table with a grin. "Nice shoes, Dahlia. Sirius and Remus, huh? You've got them wrapped around your little finger."

"What can I say?" Dahlia replied with a cheeky smile. "I'm lovable."

Fred and George, who had been eavesdropping on the whole exchange, finally chimed in. Fred leaned forward, pretending to scrutinize the shoes. "Dragonhide, huh? Pretty sturdy. Think they'd survive one of our prank contraptions?"

George nodded sagely. "We could always test that theory for you. For science, of course."

"Don't you dare," Dahlia warned, narrowing her eyes at them, though her smile betrayed her amusement. "If either of you comes near these with your 'science experiments,' I'll hex you into next week."

"Fair enough," Fred said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But they do look smashing, Dahlia. Sirius and Remus have taste, I'll give them that."

Dahlia beamed, her earlier frustration over her ruined loafers completely forgotten. She glanced down at the shoes again, admiring how perfectly they fit and how comfortable they felt. It was as if they'd been made just for her—which, of course, they had.

"Do you think I should write them a thank-you note, or just send a picture of me wearing them?" Dahlia mused, already mentally planning how to gush over the gift to Sirius and Remus.

"Send both," Hermione advised with a smile. "And maybe include a bit about how you're not a spoiled brat, despite what Ron says."

"Oi!" Ron protested, but the girls laughed, their voices mixing with the morning chatter as the Hall slowly emptied for the first classes of the day.

At the Slytherin table...

Blaise Zabini lounged in his seat, his expression one of perpetual boredom, though the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed his amusement. He popped a grape into his mouth and gestured casually toward the Gryffindor table. "Looks like Potter got her shoes replaced," he remarked, his tone dripping with nonchalance.

Pansy Parkinson glanced over, twirling her silver bracelet around her wrist. "Good for her," she said, tilting her head slightly. "Honestly, I'd be livid if mine got ruined too. They were custom dragonhide, weren't they?"

Draco Malfoy, nursing his ever-present air of superiority, rolled his eyes as he reached for his pumpkin juice. "My cousin really spoils her," he muttered.

"Oh, and your parents don't?" Pansy shot back, arching a perfectly plucked brow at him.

Draco rolled his eyes again at what she said, taking a long sip of his drink. Blaise chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth.

"Urgh, she's such a spoiled brat," Daphne Greengrass cut in, her tone sharp as she glared in Dahlia's direction. Her disdainful comment, however, only earned her a trio of unimpressed looks from Blaise, Pansy, and Draco.

"Honestly, Greengrass," Pansy said with an exasperated sigh, "you're one to talk."

Before Daphne could respond, she shifted gears, turning her attention to Theodore Nott, who had remained unusually quiet. "Theodore, darling," she cooed, leaning closer to him with an almost predatory sweetness, "will you walk me to class?"

When Theodore didn't respond, Daphne frowned and leaned further into his space. "Theodore!" she snapped, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Are you even listening?"

Theodore's gaze had been locked on Dahlia, who was still beaming as she showed off her new shoes. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played at his lips. Her unrestrained joy stood out amid the usual chaos of the Great Hall, and for a moment, everything else around him faded. 

'At least she's happy' he thought, his chest tightening with a feeling he refused to fully acknowledge.

"Theodore!" Daphne's voice was sharper this time, her patience wearing thin.

Blinking, Theodore finally turned to her. "Yes, Daphne?"

She huffed dramatically, clearly annoyed at being ignored. "I said, will you walk me to our first class? Gregory and Vincent has already volunteered to carry Astoria and I's books." She gestured toward Gregory Goyle, who paused mid-bite of his sausage, looking bewildered.

"We said no such thing," Gregory and Vincent Crabbe muttered in unison, their voices low but audible enough to draw a glare from Daphne.

Pansy rolled her eyes, her annoyance palpable. Blaise smirked, leaning back in his chair and watching the interaction like it was some form of entertainment. Draco, meanwhile, pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about insufferable people.

"Daphne," Theodore said with a calmness that only irritated her more, "Gregory and Vincent have their own classes to get to. They can't carry yours and Astoria's books. I'll carry yours but Astoria will have to carry her books herself."

Daphne huffed again, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Fine," she said, clearly dissatisfied. "I need to speak with Astoria anyway." With that, she flounced off, heading toward her younger sister with exaggerated grace.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Pansy groaned loudly. "One day, I'm going to strangle her."

"Get in line," Blaise quipped, his voice dry as he reached for another grape.

Draco let out a heavy sigh, glancing toward Theodore. "You really need to stop indulging her."

Theodore didn't reply, his gaze once again drifting toward Dahlia. She was laughing now, her face glowing as she playfully batted away a teasing comment from one of the Weasley twins. The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a fleeting moment before he forced his attention back to his plate.

"She's in a mood today," Pansy muttered, shaking her head as Daphne's voice drifted over from her conversation with Astoria. "More than usual."

"And it's not even lunchtime yet," Blaise added with a smirk. "We're in for a long day."

The greenhouse was warm and humid, its glass walls streaked with condensation as Professor Sprout bustled to the front, a tray of thick, black, slug-like plants in her hands. Dahlia wrinkled her nose at the sight.

"Ugh," she muttered under her breath to Ron and Hermione. "Is this even legal to teach?"

"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout began in her brisk, no-nonsense voice. "These beauties need squeezing. You will collect the pus—"

"The what?" Seamus Finnigan's voice rang out, laden with disgust.

"Pus, Finnigan. Pus," Professor Sprout repeated, unbothered. "Extremely valuable, so don't waste it. Now, gloves on, everyone. Bubotuber pus is highly potent and will irritate the skin if undiluted."

Dahlia slipped on her dragonhide gloves, shooting a look at Hermione. "Why couldn't this lesson be about flowers? Or nice plants, like Snapdragons?"

"Because this is Hogwarts," Hermione replied, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. "And nothing here is ever that straightforward."

"Or pleasant," Ron added with a grimace as the first student squeezed one of the swellings, releasing a stream of thick yellowish-green liquid that smelled like petrol. "Merlin, that stinks!"

Despite her initial revulsion, Dahlia found herself oddly fascinated. As the swellings burst, there was something grimly satisfying about watching the pus squirt into the bottles. "Gross," she declared, though a small, mischievous grin spread across her face. "But kind of fun."

Neville Longbottom, stationed nearby, fumbled with his Bubotuber, which squirmed alarmingly in his grip. "Er—uh—Professor?" he called nervously.

"Hold it steady, Longbottom!" Professor Sprout called out, marching over to assist. "Grip it like this—there you go!"

Dahlia snickered softly. "Poor Neville," she whispered to Ron, who snorted in agreement.

By the end of the lesson, the class had collected several pints of the foul-smelling pus, and Professor Sprout looked immensely pleased. "An excellent remedy for stubborn acne!" she declared, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. "Should stop students resorting to desperate measures, like poor Eloise Midgen—"

"Oh, no," Hannah Abbott murmured. "She tried to curse hers off."

"Silly girl," Professor Sprout tutted. "Though Madam Pomfrey did manage to fix her nose back on."

"That's comforting," Dahlia muttered wryly, earning a quiet laugh from Hermione.

The booming bell signaling the end of the lesson echoed through the grounds, and the Gryffindors trudged toward Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures. The Hufflepuffs headed toward the castle, their voices trailing behind.

As they approached Hagrid's wooden cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Dahlia caught sight of several wooden crates on the ground. Inside, something was rattling noisily, interspersed with minor explosions. Fang whimpered at Hagrid's side, straining against his collar.

"Mornin'!" Hagrid called cheerfully, waving a massive hand at them. "Be'er wait fer the Slytherins—don' want 'em missin' this!"

"What are we missing?" Dahlia asked, her emerald eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts!" Hagrid proclaimed proudly, gesturing to the crates.

"Come again?" Ron asked, peering into the nearest crate.

Dahlia stepped closer, then immediately jumped back with a shriek. "What is that?" she exclaimed, staring in horror at the creatures inside. "They look like... deformed shrimp from a nightmare."

The creatures, about six inches long, resembled slimy, pale, shell-less lobsters with legs sticking out at odd angles. Sparks shot sporadically from their rear ends, propelling them forward with small pops. The powerful stench of rotting fish wafted from the crates.

"On'y jus' hatched!" Hagrid said, beaming. "Thought we'd make a project of raisin' 'em! Yeh'll be feedin' 'em today."

"Why would we raise them?" Ron asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"And what exactly is the point of them?" added a cold voice behind them. The Slytherins had arrived, led by Draco Malfoy, who sneered down into the crate. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled on cue.

Hagrid frowned, clearly flustered. "Tha's fer next lesson. Today, yeh'll jus' feed 'em—try 'em on ant eggs, frog livers, an' grass snake. See what they like."

"First pus and now this," Seamus muttered, earning a laugh from Dean Thomas.

"This is barbaric," Lavender Brown squealed, shrinking away. "Hagrid, are you sure these things aren't dangerous?"

"'Course not!" Hagrid replied, though his smile wavered slightly. "Well... maybe a bit. But tha's why we're careful!"

The lesson quickly descended into chaos. Students reluctantly dropped handfuls of slimy frog liver into the crates, only for the Skrewts to ignore the offerings entirely. Others began sparking and shooting across the ground, sending students scattering.

"Ouch!" Dean yelped as one exploded near his hand, leaving a small burn. "It got me!"

"Ah, yeah, tha' can happen," Hagrid admitted sheepishly, hurrying over. "Bit of a blast-off. Nothin' ter worry 'bout."

"Well, they've got stingers too!" Lavender shrieked, pointing as one creature brandished a pointed tail.

"Ah, the males," Hagrid said, nodding enthusiastically. "The females've got suckers instead—think they're fer suckin' blood."

"Sucking what?" Dahlia exclaimed, staring at him in disbelief. "Hagrid, please tell me you're joking."

"Don't be silly," Hermione said, brushing off her hands after tossing a piece of grass snake into the crate. "Dragon blood's magical, and dragons aren't exactly cuddly. Who knows? These might be useful."

"Sure," Ron muttered, grinning slyly. "Maybe they cure seasickness."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I only said that to shut Malfoy up. Honestly, they should just stamp on the lot of them before they—"

"Burn us all?" Dahlia cut in, grinning. "Too late for that."

By the time the lesson ended, the students were thoroughly frazzled. The Gryffindors trudged back to the castle for lunch, the smell of rotting fish lingering in their clothes.

"Skrewts and acne pus," Ron groaned. "What's next, Hagrid? Flesh-eating slugs?"

"They're not that bad," Hermione said defensively. "If they have a use, it's worth it."

"Sure," Dahlia teased, elbowing her lightly. "I'll be sure to name my first Skrewt after you. Hermione the Helpful."

Hermione rolled her eyes but laughed. "If you do, at least spell my name right."

"Done," Dahlia said with a grin, skipping ahead toward the Great Hall, leaving her friends laughing behind her.

The bell echoed through the corridors, signaling the start of afternoon lessons. Dahlia, clutching her books tightly, headed to the Ancient Runes classroom alone. Hermione, predictably, was still holed up in the library, undoubtedly racing through another book on elf rights. Normally, Dahlia would have been excited about Ancient Runes. It was one of her favorite subjects, and Professor Babbling's lessons were always engaging.

But this year, something—or rather someone—had ruined that for her. Theodore Nott was in her class.

If this had been last year, the thought of sharing a class with Theo would have thrilled her. They had partnered up frequently, and those hours had flown by, filled with whispered jokes and stolen glances. Now, she dreaded his presence. The sting of his summer engagement to Daphne Greengrass still felt raw.

Taking a deep breath, Dahlia pushed open the heavy wooden door and slipped into the room. Professor Babbling was already at the front, gesturing animatedly at the blackboard, which was filled with diagrams of ancient runes. Dahlia avoided Theo's gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the lecture as she found a seat toward the middle of the room.

As was tradition, Professor Babbling started the term with an introductory discussion of the runes they'd be studying. "For this week's assignment," she said brightly, "you'll research a set of runes and present your findings. To encourage collaboration, you'll partner with a student from a different house. Choose wisely!"

Dahlia's stomach twisted. Partnering up had always been easy—she and Theo had naturally gravitated toward each other. Not this time. Without hesitation, Dahlia made her way toward Blaise Zabini, who was lounging at his desk with his usual air of indifference.

"Heir Zabini," Dahlia greeted formally, offering a polite smile.

"Heiress Potter," Blaise replied smoothly, sitting up straighter. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Do you want to be partners?" she asked, skipping the pretense.

Blaise's sharp eyes darted over to Theo, who was still at his desk. Theo's gaze lingered on Dahlia for a moment before he turned to Hermione, who looked conflicted.

"It would be an honor, Heiress Potter," Blaise finally said, turning back to her.

"Dahlia is fine," she insisted, sitting down beside him.

"Then I must insist you call me Blaise," he replied, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Very well. Shall we start discussing our homework?" Dahlia said briskly, flipping open her Ancient Runes textbook.

Theo sighed softly as Dahlia walked straight past him without a glance, her attention fixed on Blaise. It stung, though he knew he had no right to expect otherwise. His eyes shifted to Hermione Granger, who stood nearby, her expression a mix of irritation and hesitation.

"Granger," he said evenly.

"Nott," Hermione replied coolly, her glare sharp enough to cut.

"I see you don't have a partner," Theo said. "Do you want to partner up?"

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. "Fine. But only because you're the only tolerable Slytherin left here. And don't think for a second that I've forgotten how you made my best friend devastated over the summer."

Theo's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Noted," he said quietly, pulling out his notes.

Having settled into their partnership, Dahlia and Blaise quickly outlined their research plans, agreeing to meet after dinner to start their assignment. Their efficiency was disrupted, however, when Blaise leaned back in his chair, his tone shifting from professional to curious.

"So, Dahlia," he began casually, "what's your reaction to Theo and Greengrass's engagement?"

The question made Dahlia freeze mid-page flip. She slowly looked up at Blaise, her emerald eyes narrowing. "It's none of your business, Blaise."

Blaise held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I was just curious. Even we were shocked by the engagement."

"Well, if you must know," Dahlia said, her voice laced with venom, "I cried my heart out for an entire day."

Blaise's eyebrows shot up. "And now? What's the plan? Revenge?"

Dahlia's lips curved into a wicked smile, her voice low but firm. "Hmm, that wasn't on my mind... but now that you've mentioned it, I will rip his heart out just like he did to mine."

"Ooh, violence!" Blaise said, laughing. "I knew I liked you for a reason, Dahlia. You've got flair."

"Flair?" she repeated with a dry chuckle. "More like determination."

"Call it what you will. Just make sure I'm around when you execute your plan," Blaise said with a grin, his amusement clear.

Dahlia smirked, but the sharp edge to her expression lingered. "Don't worry, Blaise. You'll have front-row seats."

From across the room, Theo glanced up, his eyes flickering toward Dahlia and Blaise's animated conversation. His grip on his quill tightened, but he said nothing, returning his focus to Hermione's meticulous notes.

As the class ended, students began packing their things and filing out of the room. Dahlia and Blaise lingered slightly, finalizing their plans.

"I'll see you in the library later," Blaise said with a nod.

"Don't be late," Dahlia replied, her tone teasing but firm.

Across the room, Theo hesitated before following Hermione out. As they exited, Hermione muttered under her breath, "You've got some nerve, you know."

"Isn't that what you Gryffindors respect?" Theo quipped lightly, though his usual smirk faltered as his thoughts drifted back to Dahlia and Blaise.

As the trio descended the staircases toward the Great Hall, Ron's grumbling voice echoed above the din of students shuffling to dinner.

"Miserable old bat," he muttered bitterly. "That'll take all weekend, that will. . . ."

"Lots of homework?" Hermione asked brightly, slipping into step beside them. "Professor Vector didn't give us any at all! Though we do have one for Ancient Runes."

"Well, bully for Professor Vector," Ron replied moodily, shooting her a sidelong glance.

The entrance hall was packed, the queue for dinner already stretching back toward the staircases. They joined the end of the line when a sharp, mocking voice rang out behind them.

"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"

The three turned to see Draco Malfoy striding toward them, flanked by the ever-present Crabbe and Goyle, all of them looking insufferably smug.

"What?" Ron snapped.

"Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" Malfoy announced loudly, holding up a copy of the Daily Prophet. The crowd in the entrance hall hushed, turning toward the spectacle. Malfoy cleared his throat theatrically and began to read:

FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent...

Malfoy smirked. "Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. Arnold Weasley? Almost like he's a complete nobody, isn't it?"

Dahlia's grip tightened on the strap of her bag. Her eyes flicked to Ron, whose ears had turned a furious shade of red.

"Get stuffed, Malfoy," she said coldly. "C'mon, Ron—"

"Oh yeah, you were with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, cutting her off. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"

Dahlia stiffened, but her voice was steady as she shot back, "You know your mother, Malfoy? That expression she's got—like she's permanently smelling dung? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"

Dahlia hadn't wanted to insult Narcissa Malfoy—truth be told, the comment had slipped out in the heat of the moment. But as she thought about it, a pang of guilt crept into her chest. Narcissa, after all, was family. Well, distantly. Sirius had made it perfectly clear how he felt about most of the Black family, often calling them a "bunch of blood-purist snobs," but even Dahlia couldn't deny the Malfoys' striking looks.

Narcissa had an undeniable grace about her, an icy beauty that seemed to glow even in the coldest of moments. It was the kind of elegance that made heads turn, and if Dahlia was being completely honest, she could admit it ran in the family. After all, Sirius himself was devastatingly handsome. It wasn't something Dahlia dwelled on—she certainly didn't want to inflate his already considerable ego—but there was no denying it.

A ripple of laughter swept through the crowd. Malfoy's pale face flushed pink as his smirk faltered.

"Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter," he hissed.

"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," Dahlia retorted, spinning on her heel.

BANG!

The sound rang out, and screams erupted as something white-hot streaked past Dahlia's face, missing her by inches. Instinctively, she reached for her wand, but before her fingers even brushed it, another deafening bang filled the hall.

"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"

The roar came from the marble staircase, where Professor Moody was descending, his magical eye fixed on the scene. He pointed his wand at the spot where Malfoy had been standing. In an instant, Malfoy was gone, replaced by a pure white ferret shivering on the stone floor.

The entrance hall fell into stunned silence. Dahlia blinked, her hand still hovering near her wand.

"Did he get you?" Moody growled as he reached her, his mismatched eyes flickering between her and the ferret.

"No," Dahlia said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline pounding in her veins. "Missed."

"LEAVE IT!" Moody bellowed, his attention snapping to Crabbe, who had frozen mid-step, clearly intending to scoop up the ferret.

"Not you—him!" Moody barked at Dahlia, jerking his thumb toward Crabbe.

Moody limped closer to the ferret, which squeaked and tried to scurry toward the dungeons. With a flick of his wand, the ferret flew ten feet into the air and smacked back down onto the stone floor, bouncing upward again like a rubber ball.

"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," Moody growled as the ferret continued its humiliating trajectory. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do. . . . Never—do—that—again—"

Each word was punctuated by the ferret hitting the floor with a loud thud.

"Professor Moody!"

A shocked voice cut through the scene, and Professor McGonagall appeared, hurrying down the stairs with an armful of books. Her sharp gaze tracked the bouncing ferret.

"What—what are you doing?" she gasped, her expression caught between outrage and disbelief.

"Teaching," Moody replied calmly, as if nothing unusual was happening.

"Teach—Moody, is that a student?" McGonagall shrieked, dropping her books in shock.

"Yep," Moody said unapologetically.

With a flick of her wand, McGonagall transformed the ferret back into a disheveled and thoroughly humiliated Draco Malfoy, who lay sprawled on the floor, his face almost as pink as his flushed ears. He staggered to his feet, glaring at Moody with watery eyes.

"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as punishment!" McGonagall said, her voice trembling with disapproval. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

"He might've mentioned it," Moody admitted, scratching his chin, "but I thought a good sharp shock—"

"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"

"I'll do that, then," Moody said, limping closer to Malfoy, who muttered something under his breath. The words "my father" were just barely audible.

"Oh yeah?" Moody said softly, leaning in. "Well, I know your father of old, boy. You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son. You tell him that from me."

Moody grabbed Malfoy by the arm and began dragging him toward the dungeons. "Your Head of House'll be Snape, won't it?" he called back over his shoulder.

"Yes," Malfoy mumbled resentfully.

"Another old friend," Moody growled darkly. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape. . . ."

When the trio finally sat down at the Gryffindor table, the Great Hall buzzed with animated chatter about the scene in the entrance hall.

"Don't talk to me," Ron said abruptly, his face split in a wide grin.

"Why not?" Hermione asked, dishing out beef casserole for everyone.

"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," Ron said, closing his eyes in bliss. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret. . . ."

Dahlia chuckled softly, her green eyes glinting. "Well, he had it coming."

"Still," Hermione said reluctantly, "Moody could've really hurt him. It's good Professor McGonagall stopped it."

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes snapping open. "You're ruining the best moment of my life!"

Dahlia laughed again, shaking her head as she reached for a piece of bread. "Trust me, Ron, I think the whole castle will be talking about this for weeks."

As soon as Hermione finished her dinner, she picked up her bag and made a beeline for the library. Dahlia watched her leave, smiling faintly. Classic Hermione, she thought. Her attention was drawn back to the table as Fred Weasley slid into Hermione's now-empty seat, grinning widely.

"Moody!" Fred exclaimed, clearly bursting to share something. "How cool is he?"

"Beyond cool," George chimed in, plopping down opposite his twin.

"Supercool," added Lee Jordan, sliding in beside George, his tone brimming with excitement.

Dahlia leaned forward eagerly. "What was it like?" she asked, her green eyes alight with curiosity.

Fred, George, and Lee exchanged knowing looks, the kind that promised a good story.

"Never had a lesson like it," Fred began dramatically.

"He knows," said Lee, leaning in closer for effect.

"Knows what?" Ron cut in, just as intrigued.

George leaned back in his chair, folding his arms in mock mystery. "Knows what it's like to be out there doing it."

"Doing what?" Dahlia pressed, her tone insistent.

"Fighting the Dark Arts," Fred said with reverence, his voice low as though he were sharing a secret.

"He's seen it all," George added, his expression unusually serious.

"Mazing," Lee concluded, shaking his head in awe.

Ron groaned as he rummaged through his bag for his schedule. "We haven't got him till Thursday!" he said, sounding genuinely disappointed.

Dahlia laughed softly. "Patience isn't your strong suit, is it?"

The next two days passed with little excitement, apart from Neville Longbottom's unfortunate mishap in Potions. Dahlia winced as she watched Snape berate Neville mercilessly. By the end of class, Neville's cauldron was reduced to a smoldering puddle of sludge, and Snape had gleefully assigned him detention. When Neville returned later that evening, he looked utterly defeated, his hands still smeared with frog guts.

"That's vile," Dahlia said sympathetically, handing him a handkerchief. She crouched beside him as Hermione demonstrated a Scouring Charm. "Neville, you really should stand up for yourself more."

Neville muttered a quiet "Thanks," avoiding her gaze.

Ron leaned against the table, smirking. "You know why Snape's so grumpy, don't you?"

Dahlia nodded, her tone dry. "Let me guess — Moody?"

"Bingo," Ron said, snickering. "Bet he's livid Moody got the job again."

"He doesn't seem to fancy Moody's company much, does he?" Dahlia remarked thoughtfully. "I've noticed Snape avoids his eye. Makes you wonder what he's hiding."

Ron grinned. "Imagine Moody turning Snape into a horned toad. Would serve him right."

Dahlia chuckled but couldn't shake the image. "Not sure even Moody's magic could improve Snape's personality," she quipped.

By the time Thursday rolled around, anticipation buzzed through the Gryffindor fourth years. Dahlia and Ron were among the first to queue outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked, craning his neck to scan the hallway.

"Library," Dahlia said automatically, rolling her eyes. As soon as Hermione appeared, Dahlia grabbed her arm. "C'mon, Hermione, let's get good seats."

The trio hurried into the classroom and claimed seats at the very front. Moody's heavy, clunking footsteps echoed down the corridor moments later.

When Moody entered, he wasted no time, instructing them to put their books away. Dahlia exchanged a glance with Ron, intrigued by the unconventional start. Moody's presence was commanding, his scarred face and whirling magical eye enough to keep the class silent.

As Moody began to explain the Unforgivable Curses, Dahlia hung on to his every word. Her heart sank as he demonstrated the Imperius Curse, her stomach twisting as the spider performed its grotesque, involuntary dance.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Moody barked, and Dahlia felt her face flush with guilt, even though she hadn't laughed.

When Moody introduced the Cruciatus Curse, Dahlia's gaze flickered to Neville. She noticed the color drain from his face, his hands trembling slightly. The demonstration was horrifying. As the spider writhed in agony, Dahlia found herself gripping the edge of her desk.

"Stop it!" she shouted suddenly, her voice breaking the tense silence.

Moody paused, his wand lowering. The spider twitched weakly as he murmured, "Reducio."

Dahlia's hands were shaking, but her voice was firm. "We understand the lesson, Professor. You don't need to — to make us see this to get the point across."

Moody's mismatched eyes studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Strong reaction," he muttered, almost to himself. "Good. Means you care. But caring isn't enough. You need to know."

When Moody demonstrated the Killing Curse, Dahlia's breath hitched. The bright green flash filled the room, and she instinctively flinched. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears she couldn't hold back.

Ron noticed, whispering, "You okay?"

Dahlia shook her head slightly, unable to speak.

When Moody mentioned the person who survived it, she stiffened. Her face burned as she felt the weight of the class's stares. She kept her gaze fixed on the desk, not wanting anyone to see her tears.

Her thoughts spiraled back to her parents, to the horrific night she had replayed in her mind so many times. The vivid green light, the soundless scream, and the terrible finality of it all.

"Dahlia?" Ron said quietly, nudging her arm.

She blinked, forcing herself back to the present. Moody's voice was firm as he barked, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

As the bell rang, Dahlia bolted from the classroom, not waiting for anyone. She pushed through the group of her classmates and didn't stop until she was halfway down the passage. Her legs felt like lead, her chest tight, and her vision blurred as she stared blankly at the cold stone wall. She was still trembling when a hand rested gently on her shoulder.

Turning sharply, Dahlia found Neville standing behind her, his face pale and etched with worry. The same haunted look he had worn in the classroom was still present, but now it was softened by concern. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, unable to hold back any longer, Dahlia threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder as the tears came pouring out.

Neville stiffened slightly at first, but then his arms wrapped around her in an awkward yet comforting embrace. He didn't say anything, simply letting her cry.

"It was so horrible," Dahlia choked out between sobs. "I can't believe... I can't believe our parents went through that."

Neville's breath hitched, and his grip on her tightened. "I know," he said quietly, his voice trembling. "I think about it all the time. What they must have felt... how much pain they must've been in."

Dahlia pulled back slightly, her face red and blotchy, tears still streaming. "It's not fair, Neville. They were so brave, so good. And this is what they got?"

Neville nodded slowly, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's not fair. None of it. But... I think they'd want us to be strong, to keep going. For them."

Dahlia sniffled, swiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "You're right. But sometimes, it feels like it's too much. Hearing about those curses, seeing... seeing that spider... it just—" Her voice cracked.

"I know," Neville said again, his voice firmer this time. "It gets to me too. Every time. But we can't let it break us. They didn't. Neither should we."

The two stood there in silence for a moment, leaning on each other for support. Around them, their classmates passed by quietly, their faces a mixture of curiosity and understanding. No one dared to interrupt.

"Thank you," Dahlia said after a while, her voice soft but sincere.

Neville gave her a small, sad smile. "We've got each other, right? If it gets too much... you can talk to me."

Dahlia nodded, her lips twitching upward in the faintest hint of a smile. "And you can talk to me. Always."

Hermione and Ron hurried over, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity as they approached Dahlia and Neville.

"Are you two okay?" Hermione asked, her tone brimming with worry as she glanced between them.

Dahlia hesitated, brushing off the dust from her robes. "We're fine," she said curtly, though her voice lacked conviction. Neville, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.

Just then, an odd clunking noise echoed down the corridor. All four of them turned to see Professor Moody limping toward them, his magical eye spinning wildly before locking onto their small group. The hallway grew unnervingly quiet as Moody stopped before them.

His gaze softened slightly as he addressed Neville. "It's all right, sonny," Moody growled, his voice quieter than usual. "Why don't you come up to my office? Come on... we can have a cup of tea."

Neville flinched, his eyes widening. Tea with Moody seemed more like a punishment than a comfort. He froze in place, unable to move or respond.

Moody's magical eye swiveled toward Dahlia. "And you, Potter? You all right?"

Dahlia met his gaze with a defiant edge. "No," she admitted bluntly, her chin lifting slightly, "but I'll be okay."

The magical eye quivered in its socket as Moody studied her for a long moment. "You've got to know," he muttered, almost to himself. "It seems harsh, maybe, but you've got to know. No point pretending things are different than they are."

Dahlia frowned, but before she could respond, Moody clapped a gnarled hand on Neville's shoulder. "Well... come on, Longbottom. I've got some books that might interest you."

Neville looked over his shoulder, silently pleading with Dahlia, Hermione, and Ron, but none of them said a word. Dahlia's hand twitched at her side as if she wanted to intervene, but she stayed silent. Neville gave a small, resigned nod and allowed himself to be steered away.

"What was that about?" Ron asked, his voice breaking the tense silence as he watched Moody and Neville disappear around the corner.

"I don't know," Hermione said, her brow furrowing deeply. "But it's... unusual."

"Some lesson, though, eh?" Ron said, his tone lightening as they began walking toward the Great Hall. "Fred and George were right, weren't they? Moody really knows his stuff. When he did Avada Kedavra, the way that spider just... died... just snuffed it right out—"

He trailed off abruptly, noticing the tight, haunted look on Dahlia's face. Her jaw was clenched, and her hands were balled into fists at her sides. Ron swallowed hard and didn't speak again until they reached the Great Hall.

Dinner was subdued. Hermione barely spoke a word, eating quickly before excusing herself to return to the library. Dahlia sat across from Ron, stirring her food absentmindedly. Ron tried to engage her in conversation about Quidditch, but her responses were short and distracted.

After dinner, the two of them made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. Dahlia was uncharacteristically quiet, her mind replaying Moody's lesson over and over. As they neared the portrait of the Fat Lady, she finally broke the silence.

"Wouldn't Moody and Dumbledore be in trouble with the Ministry if they knew we'd seen the curses?" she asked, her voice low.

"Yeah, probably," Ron replied, shrugging. "But Dumbledore's always done things his way, hasn't he? And Moody—well, he's been getting in trouble for years. Attacks first, asks questions later. Look at his dustbins!"

"Yeah, tell me about it," Dahlia muttered, shaking her head.

"Balderdash," Ron said to the Fat Lady, who swung open to reveal the entrance hole.

The common room was bustling with activity, laughter and chatter filling the cozy space as students clustered around tables or lounged on the plush sofas. Dahlia and Ron parted ways—Ron muttering something about grabbing their Divination books from his dorm, while Dahlia headed to hers to fetch her homework.

When Dahlia returned, she noticed Neville sitting alone on one of the couches, a thick book in his hands. He looked considerably calmer than he had earlier, though the faint redness around his eyes betrayed that he'd been crying.

"You all right, Nev?" Dahlia asked softly as she approached.

Neville looked up quickly, his face brightening slightly at the sight of her. "Oh, yes," he said, though his voice wavered. "I'm fine. Just reading this book Professor Moody lent me." He held up the cover, revealing the title: Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean.

"Professor Sprout told him I'm good at Herbology," Neville added, a shy but unmistakable note of pride creeping into his voice. "She thought I'd like this."

Dahlia felt a warmth in her chest, a mix of admiration and sympathy. "That's brilliant, Neville," she said sincerely. "I always knew you had a knack for it. Sounds like Professor Moody does too."

Neville smiled faintly. "It was... nice of him, really," he admitted.

Dahlia nodded thoughtfully as she settled into the chair near Neville, placing her homework down on the table beside her. A moment later, Ron arrived, flopping into the seat next to her with his Divination books in hand. As she listened to Neville speak with quiet pride about Moody's gift, her thoughts wandered.

The way Moody had handled Neville—tactful, supportive, and yet practical—reminded her so much of her Uncle Moony. It was the sort of genuine kindness that didn't call attention to itself but left a deep, lasting impact. Dahlia's lips curved into a faint smile, though her heart ached just a little at the memory of her uncle.

Her gaze wandered across the room, where Fred and George were seated against the far wall. The twins, usually the center of attention, were huddled together in a conspiratorial manner, quills scratching furiously on a single piece of parchment. Dahlia squinted, her curiosity piqued. She was reminded of the time at the Burrow when they had been equally secretive, drafting what she'd assumed was another order form for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. But this felt different—more serious.

As Dahlia watched, George shook his head, scratched something out, and whispered something to Fred. "No—that sounds like we're accusing him. Got to be careful..." His voice, though quiet, carried just far enough for Dahlia to catch.

Noticing her watching, George glanced up and met her eyes. Dahlia gave him a quick grin before returning to her homework, not wanting to seem like she was eavesdropping. The twins soon rolled up their parchment, exchanged a knowing look, and bade the common room goodnight.

About ten minutes later, the portrait hole swung open, and Hermione climbed in, her arms full with a sheaf of parchment and a rattling box. Crookshanks padded in after her, arching his back as he purred loudly.

"Hello," Hermione greeted, her voice tired but triumphant. "I've just finished!"

"So have I!" Ron declared, flopping onto the couch and tossing down his quill.

Hermione set her things in an empty armchair and immediately reached for Ron's parchment. "Not going to have a very good month, are you?" she remarked dryly, her lips quirking into a smirk as she scanned his Divination homework.

"Ah well, at least I'm forewarned," Ron yawned.

"You seem to be drowning twice," Hermione noted with raised eyebrows.

"Oh, am I?" Ron said, leaning over to check. "I'd better change one of them to getting trampled by a rampaging hippogriff."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't you think it's a bit obvious you've made these up?"

"How dare you!" Ron said in mock outrage. "I've been working like a house-elf here!"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up.

"It's just an expression," Ron added hastily, clearly backtracking.

Dahlia finished her own work and set her quill aside, watching the exchange with an amused smile. "What's in the box, Hermione?" she asked, nodding toward the rattling container.

"Funny you should ask," Hermione said, shooting Ron a pointed look. She pulled off the lid and revealed a pile of badges, all brightly colored and bearing the same letters: S.P.E.W.

"Spew?" Dahlia asked, picking one up and examining it.

"Not spew," Hermione said, exasperated. "It's S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

"Never heard of it," Ron said, his tone light.

"Of course you haven't," Hermione said briskly. "I've only just started it."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "How many members have you got?"

"Well—if you two join—three," Hermione replied with a determined nod.

Ron snorted. "And you think we want to walk around wearing badges that say spew?"

"S-P-E-W!" Hermione snapped. "It's not a joke, Ron. I've been researching elf enslavement. It's barbaric!"

"Hermione," Ron said, louder now. "They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!"

Hermione ignored him, launching into a speech about fair wages, working conditions, and elf representation in the Ministry. Dahlia leaned forward, raising a hand to stop her.

"Uh, Hermione, hold on," Dahlia said gently. "House-elf magic works differently from ours. They bond with families—it's how their magic thrives. It's not as simple as setting them free."

Hermione blinked, taken aback.

"Dobby's different," Dahlia continued, "but even he's bonded to me now. I let him choose his freedom, and he works for me on his terms. If you want S.P.E.W. to succeed, maybe focus on improving their treatment, not forcing freedom they might not want."

Hermione hesitated, then nodded slowly. "I hadn't thought about it like that," she admitted. "But... you're right. It should be about their well-being first."

Dahlia smiled. "You've got the right idea. Let's make it about protecting them from abuse and promoting their happiness."

"Okay," Hermione said, brightening. 

"So, how do we start?" Dahlia asked.

"We recruit members," Hermione declared. "Two Sickles to join—that buys a badge and funds our leaflets. Ron, you're treasurer. Dahlia, you're secretary—write this down."

Dahlia smirked, shaking her head as she grabbed her quill. "First meeting of S.P.E.W.," she said, her tone teasing.

Hermione beamed, while Ron groaned. "This is going to be a long year."

Chapter Text

The past couple of weeks had been tormenting for Dahlia. Seeing the boy she loved with his insufferable fiancée—someone she would have dearly loved to strangle—was nothing short of torture. She longed for Quidditch to distract her; the grueling physical exertion had always been her antidote for a troubled mind. Now, with no such outlet, she found herself increasingly buried in the ever-mounting workload of fourth-year studies.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, in particular, had taken a more intense turn under Moody's unorthodox teaching. His announcement that he would demonstrate the Imperius Curse on each of them was met with a stunned silence.

"But—but you said it's illegal, Professor," Hermione stammered, her voice tinged with alarm as Moody waved his wand, clearing the desks and creating a large, open space in the center of the room. "You said using it against another human was—"

"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," Moody interrupted, his magical eye fixing Hermione with its unsettling, unblinking stare. "If you'd rather learn the hard way—when someone's using it to control you completely—that's fine by me. You're excused. Off you go." He pointed his gnarled finger at the door.

Hermione flushed crimson, mumbling something about not wanting to leave. Ron smirked at Dahlia, who returned a faint grin. Neither doubted that Hermione would sooner drink bubotuber pus than miss an important lesson.

Moody began calling students forward, one by one, to place them under the curse. Dahlia watched as her classmates performed absurd actions, completely enthralled by the spell. Dean Thomas hopped around the room singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown scurried about like a squirrel. Neville executed gymnastics routines so improbable that even a trained athlete would have struggled to replicate them.

Not one of them managed to resist the curse. The spell only lifted when Moody released it, leaving them dazed and sheepish.

"Potter, you're next," Moody barked.

Dahlia stepped into the cleared space, her heart pounding. She glanced briefly at Hermione and Ron, who gave her encouraging nods. Moody raised his wand, and before she could brace herself, the spell hit her.

"Imperio!"

It was as though every worry and thought had been wiped clean from her mind. A soothing, blissful weightlessness enveloped her, leaving her feeling utterly serene. She barely registered the curious stares of her classmates as she stood there, calm and detached.

Jump onto the desk, Moody's voice echoed distantly in her mind.

Her body responded immediately, bending her knees to prepare for the jump.

Why? another voice questioned—a faint but growing presence in her mind. That's stupid. Why would I do that?

Jump onto the desk! the command came again, more forceful this time.

No, the voice pushed back, firmer now. I don't think I will.

JUMP! NOW!

The conflicting orders collided within her. Dahlia half-jumped, half-fought against the command, resulting in a graceless tumble into the desk. Pain radiated through her knees as the desk clattered to the floor.

"Now, that's more like it!" Moody growled approvingly. The fog in Dahlia's mind lifted, and the full weight of the pain in her knees hit her, making her wince. "Look at that, you lot—Potter fought it! Fought it, and damn near beat it!"

Dahlia tried to straighten up, gritting her teeth through the throbbing ache. Moody's magical eye swiveled to the class. "Pay attention—watch her eyes. That's where you see the struggle. Very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you."

By the end of the lesson, Dahlia had been put under the Imperius Curse four times in a row. Each time, she managed to resist more effectively, though her body and mind were thoroughly exhausted.

As they left the classroom, Dahlia limped alongside Hermione and Ron, who were animatedly discussing the lesson.

"You'd think we were all about to be ambushed by Death Eaters any second," Dahlia muttered, massaging her sore knees.

"Yeah, he's paranoid, all right," Ron added, taking an exaggerated hop-step—he'd had a particularly hard time resisting the curse. "Did you hear him tell Seamus about that witch who shouted 'Boo' at him on April Fool's? He nearly blasted her through a wall!"

Hermione frowned, still deep in thought. "It's extreme, but he's not wrong to prepare us. The Imperius Curse is terrifying."

Ron rolled his eyes but said nothing, too focused on maintaining his balance.

Their exhaustion carried into Transfiguration, where Professor McGonagall seemed oblivious to their collective groans as she handed out a hefty assignment.

"You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education," she said sternly, her sharp gaze sweeping over the class. "Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer—"

"But we don't take O.W.L.s until fifth year!" Dean Thomas protested.

"Perhaps not, Thomas, but you need all the preparation you can get!" McGonagall snapped. "Miss Granger and Miss Potter remain the only students in this class capable of producing satisfactory work. Your pincushion," she added, glaring at Dean, "still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin."

Hermione and Dahlia exchanged a quick, sheepish glance, their cheeks tinged pink. Despite themselves, they couldn't suppress faint smiles of pride.

It was no surprise to anyone when Dahlia, Hermione, Theodore, and Blaise earned top marks for their Ancient Runes research. Their performance was flawless; both pairs had not only executed their rune enchantments perfectly but also delivered detailed, articulate explanations of their findings. Dahlia, her emerald-green eyes alight with confidence, added a touch of humor to her presentation, which made even Professor Babbling chuckle—a rare feat.

Meanwhile, the workload across their other classes seemed to pile higher by the day. In History of Magic, Professor Binns droned on about the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century, assigning weekly essays that left everyone either half-asleep or on the verge of rebellion themselves.

Professor Snape was no less demanding, forcing them to research antidotes with a sinister gleam in his eye. He had casually mentioned that he might poison one of them before Christmas to test their skills.

"Just another way to ruin the holidays," Dahlia muttered under her breath as she scribbled notes during a particularly grueling lesson.

Professor Flitwick, while considerably kinder, had tasked them with reading three additional books in preparation for Summoning Charms. Hermione, of course, had already finished two by the weekend, which she announced over breakfast.

Even Hagrid had joined the trend of increasing their workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts, his current pride and joy, were growing at an alarming rate, and nobody had yet discovered what they ate.

"Come down ter me hut," Hagrid had suggested with a wide grin. "Take notes on their behavior—it's fascinatin', really!"

"I will not," Draco Malfoy declared, crossing his arms. "I see enough of those foul creatures during lessons."

Hagrid's smile vanished. "Yeh'll do wha' yer told," he growled, his tone suddenly sharp. "Or maybe yeh'd prefer I take a leaf outta Professor Moody's book. . . . I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy."

The Gryffindors burst into laughter, and Dahlia nearly doubled over, wiping tears from her eyes. Malfoy turned an unflattering shade of red but said nothing, clearly remembering the humiliation of being transformed into a ferret.

As the lesson ended, Dahlia, Ron, and Hermione made their way back to the castle in high spirits.

"Did you see his face?" Ron said, grinning ear to ear. "Priceless. Absolutely priceless."

"And well deserved," Dahlia added. "After what he tried to pull with Hagrid last year, I say it's about time someone put him in his place."

When they arrived at the entrance hall, a large crowd had gathered around a new sign at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron, the tallest of the three, stood on tiptoe to read it aloud.

"Triwizard Tournament," he began, his voice rising with excitement. "The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Friday, the 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early—"

"Brilliant!" Dahlia interrupted, her face lighting up. "It's Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won't have time to poison us all!"

Hermione snorted, but quickly composed herself. "Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast," Ron finished.

"Only a week away!" said Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd with a broad grin. "I wonder if Cedric knows. Think I'll go tell him. . . ."

"Cedric?" Ron asked blankly as Ernie Macmillan disappeared into the crowd, looking very pleased with himself.

"Diggory," Dahlia said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "You know, Hufflepuff's golden boy. Bet he's entering the tournament."

Ron huffed loudly, his ears turning a faint shade of red. "Of course he is. That bloke who practically melts every time he sees you."

Dahlia blinked, caught off guard by Ron's comment. "Excuse me?"

"You know it's true," Ron muttered. "Bet he thinks he's got it in the bag."

Dahlia smirked, brushing past him. "Well, better Cedric than Malfoy. Imagine the disaster that would be—Hogwarts champion and an insufferable ferret."

Ron burst out laughing at the thought, his annoyance momentarily forgotten. "Now that would be a tragedy."

Hermione, however, frowned, crossing her arms. "It's not about popularity or Quidditch matches, you know. The tournament is supposed to test skill, courage, and resourcefulness."

"And a good dose of common sense," Dahlia added dryly. "So, yeah, Malfoy's definitely out of the running."

Before Ron could respond, he suddenly pointed a finger at Hermione. "Wait a second—are you actually sticking up for Diggory?"

Hermione straightened, looking affronted. "I'm not 'sticking up for him,' Ron. I'm just saying he's not an idiot. You only don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch."

Ron spun on his heel, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "Beat Gryffindor? That git cheated, and you know it!"

"Cheated?" Hermione repeated incredulously. "He's a fair player! Even McGonagall said so besides Dahlia fell off her broom."

Dahlia groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Here we go again," she muttered under her breath.

"He's not just a fair player," Hermione continued, ignoring Ron's sputtering. "He's a good student too—and a prefect."

"Oh, of course," Ron sneered, throwing a sarcastic hand in the air. "He's handsome, he's smart, and he's a prefect. Bet that makes him perfect in your book, doesn't it?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione said, her voice rising. She stopped dead in her tracks, glaring daggers at him. "I don't like people just because they're handsome!"

Ron coughed loudly, a sound that suspiciously resembled "Lockhart."

"Honestly, could you two just stop?" Dahlia interjected, stepping between them before Hermione could retort. "Let's focus on something more productive, like how we're going to avoid getting trampled when those Durmstrang blokes show up."

Hermione huffed, adjusting her bag. "Fine. But for the record, Diggory is a perfectly respectable candidate."

Ron muttered something under his breath about "starry-eyed Hufflepuffs," but before he could finish, Dahlia shot him a sharp glare.

"One more word, Weasley," she said, her voice dangerously low, "and I'll hex you so hard you'll wake up in next week's Potions class."

Ron paled slightly but wisely kept his mouth shut as they continued toward the common room, the hum of anticipation for the tournament buzzing through the castle.

The tension eased as they continued toward the common room. Conversations about the tournament buzzed all around them like restless bees. Everywhere Dahlia turned, students were speculating about the champions, the challenges, and the visiting schools. Even the castle itself seemed to reflect the mounting excitement—everything was being polished and scrubbed to an almost comical degree.

"I swear, if Filch yells at me about my shoes one more time," Dahlia muttered, recalling how the caretaker had growled at her earlier for leaving a faint trail of mud. "It's like he thinks Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are going to inspect the floors."

"Filch is always like that," Ron said, shrugging. "But I don't see why McGonagall's so on edge too. Did you hear her yell at Neville the other day?"

Dahlia stifled a laugh, picturing Neville's ears transplanted onto a cactus. "Poor Neville. I'm surprised he hasn't sworn off magic altogether at this point."

The morning of October 30th brought even more excitement. As Dahlia, Ron, and Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast, their eyes widened at the transformation. Silk banners in the house colors draped the walls, gleaming in the soft light of floating candles. The massive Hogwarts crest hung behind the staff table, its details shining proudly.

"Wow," Dahlia said, craning her neck to admire the decorations. "It's a bit much, don't you think?"

"It's tradition," Hermione said, already scanning the hall for any changes in seating or staff. "The Tournament is a huge event."

Fred and George were sitting unusually close together at the Gryffindor table, their heads bent in a low conversation. Dahlia, Ron, and Hermione slid into the seats next to them just in time to catch George muttering, "...if he won't talk to us, we'll have to send the letter."

"Who's avoiding you?" Ron asked, leaning in.

"Wish you would," Fred quipped, looking irritated by the interruption.

Dahlia grinned. "So, any plans for entering the tournament?" she asked the twins, deciding to change the subject.

Fred leaned back, crossing his arms. "Oh, we've got plans, Potter. Don't you worry about that. Problem is, McGonagall's not telling us a thing. She just said to 'focus on our transfigurations.'"

"And you're not?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

Fred gasped dramatically. "Hermione! You wound me. We're always focused—on the important things."

George snorted. "Right, like figuring out what the tasks are. We've got some ideas, but nothing concrete yet. What do you reckon, Ron?"

"I reckon I could handle them," Ron said confidently. "We've done dangerous stuff before, haven't we, Lia?"

Dahlia snorted. "Yeah, but not in front of a panel of judges," she pointed out. "This isn't sneaking past Fluffy or battling a basilisk, Ron. This is... public. With scores."

Fred nodded sagely. "Exactly. You'd need to worry about style points."

By evening, the atmosphere in the castle was electric. Students lined up outside the Great Hall, chattering excitedly as they awaited the arrival of the visiting schools. Professor McGonagall was bustling about, ensuring that everyone was properly dressed.

"Weasley, straighten your hat!" she snapped as she passed Ron, who groaned but obeyed.

"Minnie, do I really have to wear this?" Dahlia complained, fidgeting with the brim of her own pointed hat. "I look ridiculous."

"It's Professor McGonagall, Miss Potter," the professor replied curtly, "and yes, you do have to wear it."

Dahlia groaned theatrically, earning a sharp look from McGonagall.

Nearby, Parvati Patil was reluctantly removing a large ornamental butterfly from her braid at McGonagall's insistence. "This is so unfair," she muttered under her breath.

"First years in front," McGonagall called, her voice cutting through the chatter, "and no pushing!"

The students filed outside, the crisp evening air biting at their cheeks. Dahlia stood between Ron and Hermione, her cloak pulled tightly around her against the cold. A pale moon hung low over the Forbidden Forest, casting an eerie silver light on the grounds.

"How do you reckon they're coming?" Ron asked, glancing down the long drive. "The train?"

"I doubt it," Hermione said. "Beauxbatons and Durmstrang always make an entrance."

"Broomsticks?" Dahlia suggested, tilting her head to the star-studded sky.

"I don't think so... not from that far away," 

Dahlia squinted into the darkening sky. Her breath fogged in the crisp air, and she hugged her cloak tighter around herself. The cold was beginning to seep into her bones.

"A Portkey, maybe?" Ron suggested, bouncing on the balls of his feet for warmth. "Or they could Apparate — maybe it's allowed under seventeen wherever they come from?"

"You can't Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds!" Hermione snapped, her voice sharp with exasperation. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Dahlia smirked faintly at Ron's sheepish look but returned her gaze to the grounds, scanning for any signs of movement. Everything remained eerily still, save for the occasional snort of Madame Maxime's enormous horses.

"They're taking their sweet time," Dahlia muttered under her breath. She rubbed her hands together briskly, wishing she'd brought gloves. "Maybe they're planning some big dramatic entrance. Wizards do love a spectacle—remember the World Cup?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, your dad did say something about that—'Can't resist showing off when we get together.'"

Before anyone could reply, a deep, resonant voice echoed across the lawn:
"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

Dumbledore's declaration sent a ripple of excitement through the gathered students.

"Where?" several voices shouted eagerly, everyone craning their necks in different directions.

"There!" yelled a sixth-year, pointing toward the Forbidden Forest.

Dahlia's eyes widened as she spotted the dark, hulking shape emerging against the twilight sky. It was enormous, much larger than anything she had expected.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked a first-year, clutching the arm of the student beside them.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's... a flying house?" Dennis Creevey guessed, his voice rising in wonder.

Dahlia blinked. "Closer, but not quite," she murmured. Her heart gave a little jolt as the object moved into the light cast by the castle windows. A massive, powder-blue carriage—big enough to rival Hagrid's hut—soared gracefully toward the ground, pulled by a dozen winged palomino horses the size of elephants.

"Merlin's beard," Dahlia breathed, her gaze fixed on the spectacle. The horses' hooves, shining like polished gold, hit the ground with a thunderous crash, and the carriage bounced slightly on its wheels before settling. She took a half-step back as the golden-eyed beasts tossed their heads and snorted, their fiery breath visible in the cooling air.

"Fancy," Ron said, whistling softly.

"Understatement of the century," Dahlia replied, still staring.

The door of the carriage swung open, and a boy in pale blue robes scrambled down to unfold a set of golden steps. Moments later, a gleaming black shoe—large enough to double as a sled—appeared, followed by Madame Maxime herself.

"Oh my Salazar," Dahlia whispered, her eyes widening as the towering woman stepped into the light. "Godric, Helga, Rowena and Merlin, she's enormous."

Theo, standing nearby with Daphne leaning against his arm, frowned at her commentary.

"She's just tall," Theo said, unimpressed. "You don't have to list the entire Founders' table about it."

Dahlia ignored him, her attention locked on Madame Maxime, who was exchanging pleasantries with Dumbledore. As the applause died down, she noticed the Beauxbatons students filing out of the carriage behind their headmistress.

"Oh no," Dahlia said under her breath, her green eyes darting over the silk-robed students. "They're all stunning."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, look at them!" she hissed, motioning subtly. "Like they've all stepped off the cover of Witch Weekly or something. It's like they planned this!"

Ron followed her gaze and grumbled. "Great. As if we didn't have enough to feel inferior about."

Hermione frowned at both of them. "Oh, honestly. They're just people. They can't help how they look."

"Yeah, well, I doubt they're worried about skrewts in their Care of Magical Creatures classes," Dahlia muttered, still watching the group with a mix of envy and admiration.

As the Beauxbatons party was led inside, a new noise broke the silence—a strange, muffled rumbling and sucking sound that seemed to be coming from the direction of the lake.

"What's that?" Ron asked, his head snapping toward the water.

Dahlia tilted her head, listening intently. The sound grew louder, accompanied by bubbles breaking the lake's surface. "The lake's moving," she said, gripping Ron's sleeve and pointing.

A great whirlpool formed in the lake's center, and slowly, a black mast emerged, gleaming under the moonlight.

"It's a ship," Dahlia murmured, her voice tinged with awe.

"A ship?" Ron echoed.

"Obviously," Hermione added. "Look at the rigging—it's clearly magical."

The ship continued to rise, skeletal and eerie, before settling on the water's surface and gliding smoothly toward the bank. Moments later, figures began to disembark, their fur-lined cloaks billowing in the wind.

"They're built like trolls," Ron muttered, watching the burly Durmstrang students approach.

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "They're just wearing thick furs, Ron. Try not to embarrass us in front of the entire school, will you?"

Ron shot her a half-hearted glare but said nothing.

As the Durmstrang students reached the lawn, Dahlia's sharp gaze fell on the man leading them—Professor Karkaroff, with his sleek silver furs and slick demeanor. She wrinkled her nose. "He looks like he'd sell you snake oil and call it a miracle cure."

"Lia!" Ron hissed, elbowing her lightly.

"What?" she said, smirking.

When Karkaroff called for Viktor to join him, Dahlia's smirk faded instantly. Her eyes widened as a familiar face stepped into the light.

"It's Krum," she said, her voice filled with equal parts shock and disbelief.

"Lia—it's Krum!" Ron hissed, punching her arm excitedly.

"Yes, Ron," she replied dryly, though her gaze lingered on Viktor as he followed Karkaroff into the castle. "I think the whole school can see that."

"I don't believe it!" Ron exclaimed, his voice filled with awe as the Hogwarts students filed back into the castle. "Krum, Lia! Viktor Krum!"

"For heaven's sake, Ron, he's just a Quidditch player," said Hermione with a roll of her eyes.

"Just a Quidditch player?" Ron turned to her as though she had just insulted his entire existence. "Hermione—he's one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still in school!"

Dahlia smirked, amused by Ron's enthusiasm. "He does look older than the rest of them. Must be all the practice dodging Bludgers."

As the students made their way to the Great Hall, Dahlia caught sight of Lee Jordan hopping on his toes to get a glimpse of Krum's retreating figure. Around them, a group of sixth-year girls rummaged through their robes in a frenzy.

"I don't believe it! I don't have a single quill on me," one wailed.

"Would he sign my hat with lipstick?" another whispered fervently.

"Really," Hermione sniffed as they passed the group, who were now bickering over a tube of bright red lipstick.

"I'm getting his autograph if I can," Ron said firmly. "Lia, you haven't got a quill on you, have you?"

"Nope," Dahlia replied, grinning. "They're all in my bag upstairs."

As they took their seats at the Gryffindor table, Ron deliberately positioned himself facing the entrance, eyes glued to Krum and the Durmstrang students.

"Over here!" Ron hissed suddenly. "Come and sit over here!"

"Ron, they can't hear you," Dahlia pointed out, amused.

"It's too late," Ron muttered bitterly as the Durmstrang students chose the Slytherin table. Malfoy and his cronies looked unbearably smug, leaning in to speak with Krum.

"Yeah, go on, Malfoy. Lay it on thick," Ron said sourly. "Bet Krum gets people fawning over him all the time. Think he can see right through him?"

Dahlia chuckled, glancing toward the Beauxbatons students at the Ravenclaw table. "They look like they'd rather be anywhere else."

"They don't even have proper cloaks," Hermione said with a slight frown. "It's not that cold!"

As Ron continued to speculate about where Krum might sleep ("I'd give him my bed! I wouldn't mind a camp bed!"), Dahlia turned her attention to the Great Hall itself. It seemed unusually vibrant tonight, the foreign students' brightly colored uniforms providing a stark contrast to Hogwarts' black robes. The Beauxbatons students, now free of their scarves and mufflers, looked elegant but slightly unimpressed, while the Durmstrang contingent shed their heavy furs and gazed at the enchanted ceiling with curiosity.

"I have to admit," Dahlia said, nudging Hermione, "the Durmstrang robes are pretty striking."

"Bloodred? It's a bit much, don't you think?" Hermione replied.

"Better than plain black," Dahlia teased, smoothing her own robes with exaggerated disappointment.

Up at the staff table, Filch bustled about, adding four extra chairs. "Why four?" Dahlia murmured to Hermione and Ron.

"No idea," Ron said. "There are only two extra people."

"Maybe they're expecting more guests?" Dahlia guessed, her eyes darting to the doors.

The feast began, the plates filling with a dazzling array of dishes. Dahlia noticed the unusual additions, her eyes landing on a large dish of shellfish stew.

"Bouillabaisse," Hermione explained when Ron asked.

"Bless you," Ron said automatically, earning a laugh from Dahlia.

As the feast continued, Dahlia noticed Hagrid slipping into the Hall, his hand heavily bandaged.

"Skrewts doing all right, Hagrid?" Dahlia called.

"Thrivin'," Hagrid replied cheerfully, waving his bandaged hand.

"Looks like they've finally found a food they like," Ron muttered under his breath. "Hagrid's fingers."

Dahlia laughed softly but was interrupted by a soft, lilting voice.

"Excuse me, are you finished wiz ze bouillabaisse?"

Dahlia looked up to see one of the Beauxbatons girls standing before them. Her long, silvery-blonde hair cascaded down her back, and her deep blue eyes sparkled like sapphires.

Ron went beet-red, his mouth opening and closing uselessly.

"Yeah, take it," Dahlia said, pushing the dish toward the girl with a smile.

"You 'ave finished wiz it?" the girl asked again, her accent thick and melodious.

"Yes," Ron croaked. "Yes, it was excellent."

The girl nodded gracefully and carried the dish to the Ravenclaw table. As she moved away, Ron stared after her, utterly entranced.

"She's a Veela!" he whispered hoarsely.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said sharply. "She's just a girl!"

Dahlia smirked, watching the way half the boys in the Hall seemed to have stopped breathing as the girl passed. "I don't know, Hermione. She's got something."

"Right! See, even Lia agrees with me!" Ron said triumphantly, leaning sideways to maintain his view of the silvery-haired girl as she crossed the Great Hall. "I'm telling you, that's not a normal girl! They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!"

"They make them perfectly fine at Hogwarts," Dahlia said casually, a sly edge to her voice as her gaze drifted toward Theo, seated not far from some Durmstrang students.

Theo, catching the movement, glanced up and raised an eyebrow at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"What was that, Lia?" Hermione asked sharply, her tone a mix of curiosity and suspicion as she caught the subtle shift in Dahlia's expression.

Dahlia's cheeks reddened slightly, but she shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Nothing," she said smoothly. "Just that Ron might want to get his eyes back in their sockets before they roll onto the floor."

The room buzzed with excitement as Dumbledore stood again. "The moment has come," he announced, his voice ringing through the Hall. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to begin!"

Dahlia leaned forward eagerly, her heart racing. The tension in the Hall was palpable as Filch brought forward a jeweled chest. "What's in the casket?" she whispered to Ron, her curiosity piqued.

"No idea," Ron whispered back, eyes wide.

The chest looked ancient, its dark wood etched with intricate runes that seemed to shimmer faintly in the candlelight. A murmur of excitement rippled through the Hall, students leaning forward in their seats to get a better view. Dennis Creevey stood on his chair, his head barely clearing the others despite his best efforts, while his brother Colin steadied him.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," announced Dumbledore as Filch carefully set the chest down before him. The caretaker's hands lingered on the edges, as though he feared the heavy object might leap from its perch.

"And they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways..." Dumbledore's calm voice rang clearly, captivating everyone in the Hall. "Their magical prowess, their daring, their powers of deduction, and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

The final word echoed ominously, plunging the Hall into silence so complete it seemed even the flickering flames on the candles paused.

"As you know, three champions will compete in the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks, and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

With a few taps of his wand on the chest, the lid creaked open, revealing the Goblet within. Its rough, unpolished wood seemed unremarkable at first, but the blue-white flames dancing inside transformed it into something extraordinary. Gasps rippled through the room as Dumbledore lifted the goblet and placed it atop the chest, where it glowed like a beacon.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion," Dumbledore said, his gaze sweeping across the Hall, "must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours to do so. Tomorrow night, on Halloween, the Goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools."

He paused, his eyes twinkling slightly. "To ensure no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it is placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."

Dahlia, seated between Ron and Hermione, caught Fred and George exchanging an excited glance.

"That's not going to stop them," she muttered to herself.

Dumbledore's voice grew stern. "I wish to impress upon all of you that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have been selected as champion. Be very sure of your decision."

The Hall erupted in murmurs as Dumbledore concluded, "And now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

"An Age Line!" Fred Weasley exclaimed gleefully as the students began filing out. "Well, that's a joke! That'll be fooled by an Aging Potion, no problem. Once your name's in that goblet, you're laughing—it can't tell how old you really are!"

"You're going to try, aren't you?" George chimed in, elbowing Fred. "No way we're missing out on eternal glory."

"Speak for yourself," Hermione interjected primly. "Nobody under seventeen stands a chance. We haven't learned nearly enough."

Fred snorted. "Oh, come off it. They can't have picked the champions based on NEWTs last time, and they won't this time, either."

"You'll try, won't you, Dahlia?" George asked, turning to her with a mischievous grin.

Dahlia tilted her head, pondering. "What's the point? Eternal glory doesn't pay the bills—not that I need it anyway." Her lips twitched into a half-smile. "But it might be fun to see how mad Dumbledore gets if someone younger than seventeen crosses that line."

Before George could reply, Ron interrupted. "Where's Krum?" His head swiveled as he scanned the room. "Dumbledore didn't say where Durmstrang's sleeping, did he?"

They had just reached the Slytherin table when the answer became clear. Karkaroff was bustling toward the doors, his fur-lined cloak billowing behind him as he shepherded his students out.

"Back to the ship, then," Karkaroff ordered. "Viktor, are you warm enough? Did you eat enough? Should I have the elves send mulled wine?"

Krum shook his head mutely, pulling on his heavy cloak. One of the other Durmstrang boys grinned slyly. "Professor, I vood like some vine."

"I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff," snapped Karkaroff, his indulgent tone vanishing. "And look at your robes—filthy! You're a disgrace."

As Karkaroff and his students reached the entrance, they brushed past Dahlia, Hermione, and Ron. Dahlia moved aside politely to let them pass.

"Thank you," Karkaroff said curtly, barely glancing at her before freezing mid-step. His pale eyes locked on Dahlia's face, and then, unmistakably, on her scar. The students behind him halted, their whispers growing louder.

"That's her," one murmured. Poliakoff jabbed the boy next to him, gesturing openly at Dahlia's forehead.

"Yeah, that's Dahlia Potter," growled a familiar voice. The crowd parted slightly as Mad-Eye Moody stumped forward, his magical eye spinning wildly. His scarred face twisted into a grimace as he stared down Karkaroff.

"You!" Karkaroff hissed, his face going ashen.

"Me," Moody replied with a humorless smile. "And unless you've got business with Potter, Karkaroff, I suggest you move along. You're blocking the way."

Karkaroff shot one last, venomous look at Moody before whirling around. "Come!" he barked at his students, sweeping them out the door.

Moody watched him go, his magical eye fixed on the retreating figure. "Slimy git," he muttered.

As Dahlia watched the Durmstrang students go, a low voice with a thick accent interrupted her thoughts.

"Hey there," it drawled smoothly. "I guess it's true what my friends said. You really are a beauty, Dahlia Potter."

Startled, Dahlia turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered Durmstrang student standing beside her. His sharp jawline and striking grey eyes were framed by dark, tousled hair that brushed the collar of his heavy fur-lined cloak. He smirked, exuding an air of easy confidence.

"Oh, um, thank you. And you are...?" Dahlia managed, blinking at him.

He placed a hand over his chest, inclining his head slightly. "Ah, my apologies. I am Vladimir Zhdanov. Well met, Heiress Potter."

"Well met, Vladimir Zhdanow," Dahlia replied, only to falter slightly on the pronunciation of his last name. She flushed, glancing away as the misstep hung in the air.

To her relief, Vladimir chuckled warmly. "Vlad is fine, Heiress Potter. No need for formality."

"Then Dahlia is fine too, Vlad," she said quickly, her voice steadying.

His smirk softened into a genuine smile. "As you wish, Dahlia." His tone lingered on her name, as if testing how it felt on his tongue.

He glanced toward the doorway where the rest of the Durmstrang students were already filing out. "Ah, it seems I have fallen behind my schoolmates. But of course, they cannot blame me—how could I rush past such beauty?"

Before she could respond, he took her hand, bowing slightly as he brushed a light kiss across her knuckles. His grey eyes sparkled mischievously as he straightened. "Until we meet again, Dahlia Potter." With a wink, he turned and strode off to catch up with his peers.

Dahlia stood frozen, her cheeks burning.

Behind her, a loud voice broke the silence.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron spluttered, his jaw practically hitting the floor. He and Hermione had been standing just behind her, wide-eyed and utterly flabbergasted.

"I—I don't know!" Dahlia stammered, still feeling the warmth of Vladimir's hand on hers.

Hermione folded her arms, smirking knowingly. "Well, it seems yet another wizard has been bewitched by our dearest Dahlia Potter."

"No! This can't keep happening!" Ron exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. "You're already driving half  the Hogwarts boys mad, and now Durmstrang, too? That Vladimir-whatever-his-name-is—he's got to be watched."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't overreact, Ron. He was just being charming."

"Charming? Charming?!" Ron was nearly shouting now. "I'll tell the twins and Neville to keep an eye on that Vladimir... Zhdanov... whatever. And tomorrow, I'm writing Sirius and Remus. They'll know what to do!"

Dahlia groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, Merlin, not Sirius. He'll blow it completely out of proportion."

"Good!" Ron huffed. "Someone's got to protect you. That Durmstrang lot gives me bad vibes. And that Vladimir—he's too smooth."

Hermione laughed softly. "You're hopeless, Ron. Come on, let's get to the common room before you start organizing a full-fledged security detail."

As they made their way toward the stairs, Dahlia risked one last glance at the door where Vladimir had disappeared, a strange mix of embarrassment and intrigue tugging at her chest.

As Saturday dawned, a day when most students would usually sleep in, Dahlia, Ron, and Hermione found themselves awake and eager far earlier than usual. When they descended into the entrance hall, they discovered they weren't alone. Around twenty students were already milling about, eating toast or sipping tea, their attention fixed on the Goblet of Fire.

It sat in the center of the hall on the stool where the Sorting Hat usually rested. A thin golden line glowed faintly on the floor, forming a wide circle around the Goblet, which danced with blue-white flames.

"Anyone put their name in yet?" Ron asked a third-year girl nearby, his curiosity plain.

"All the Durmstrang lot," she replied. "But I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts yet."

"Bet some of them snuck it in last night," Dahlia suggested, her arms crossed as she studied the goblet. "I mean, if it were me, I'd want to avoid the crowd. Imagine if it spat your name back out! That'd be humiliating."

Behind her, someone chuckled. Turning, Dahlia saw Fred, George, and Lee Jordan descending the staircase, their faces alight with mischief.

"Done it," Fred whispered to the trio, his voice brimming with triumph.

"Done what?" Ron asked, his brow furrowed.

"The Aging Potion, obviously," said Fred with a wink.

"Just a drop each," George added, rubbing his hands in excitement. "We only need to fool it for a few months."

"And if one of us wins, we're splitting the thousand Galleons," said Lee with a grin.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "You really think that'll work? Dumbledore's not exactly easy to fool."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "She's right, you know. I'm sure he thought of this. The Age Line isn't just a decoration."

Fred waved them off. "That's what you lot are here for—to doubt us. C'mon, lads, let's prove them wrong."

Fred stepped forward, pulling a slip of parchment from his pocket with the words Fred Weasley – Hogwarts written boldly across it.

"Here we go," he said, rocking on his toes like a diver about to leap. He took a deep breath, grinned at the onlookers, and stepped across the golden line.

For a brief moment, nothing happened.

"Ha!" George shouted, taking a step forward to join him. But just as his foot crossed the line, a loud sizzling sound rang out.

Fred and George were flung backward with such force they tumbled across the cold stone floor, landing ten feet away. As the crowd gasped, a loud pop echoed, and identical long white beards sprouted from both their chins.

The hall erupted in laughter. Even Dahlia couldn't help but laugh as the twins groaned, examining their bushy, wizardly beards.

"I told you," Hermione said, shaking her head as she tried to suppress her giggles.

Dumbledore's deep, amused voice interrupted. "Indeed, Miss Granger, you did." He stepped out from the Great Hall, his eyes twinkling with mirth as they landed on the bearded twins. "Fred, George—may I suggest a trip to Madam Pomfrey? She's already attending to Miss Fawcett and Mr. Summers, who attempted something similar this morning. Though I must say, neither of them achieved beards quite so... distinguished."

Even Fred and George joined in the laughter as they were ushered off to the hospital wing by a still-hysterical Lee Jordan. Dahlia, Ron, and Hermione followed the rest of the crowd into the Great Hall for breakfast.

The hall was spectacularly decorated for Halloween, with hundreds of carved pumpkins leering from corners and a cloud of live bats fluttering near the enchanted ceiling. Dahlia led the way to their usual spot near Dean and Seamus, who were animatedly discussing the potential Hogwarts champions.

"Warrington's put his name in," Dean said, wrinkling his nose. "That big Slytherin bloke who looks like a sloth."

Ron groaned. "We can't have a Slytherin champion!"

"And all the Hufflepuffs are betting on Diggory," Seamus added, rolling his eyes. "Though I doubt he'd risk his precious looks."

Dahlia frowned at the comment and looked up sharply. "You guys really shouldn't look down on Cedric like that," she said firmly. "He's a good student, a great Quidditch player, and he'd make a fine champion. Just because he's from another house doesn't mean he's not worthy."

Seamus blinked, taken aback, but she wasn't done. Her voice rose slightly as she continued, "We're all Hogwarts students. Whoever our champion is, we should support them—whether they're in Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or even Slytherin."

A murmur spread through the tables as students turned to listen. When Dahlia finished, a smattering of applause broke out, quickly growing until half the hall was clapping. Her cheeks burned, but she managed a small smile.

"Hear, hear!" Cedric Diggory called from the Hufflepuff table, grinning as he raised his goblet in her direction. Dahlia felt her face grow even hotter but nodded back at him.

"Well said, Dahlia," Hermione whispered, looking impressed.

Ron leaned in, still muttering, "Yeah, fine, but we still can't let our champion be a Slytherin. That Warrington looks like he'd steal candy from a baby."

Dahlia groaned, burying her face in her hands. Some things never changed.

"What're we going to do today, then?" Ron asked as they strolled out of the Great Hall, his hands stuffed into his pockets. The warm aroma of pumpkin and spices lingered in the air behind them.

Dahlia glanced at him with a small smile. "We haven't visited Hagrid in ages. He's probably wondering if we've forgotten him."

"Sounds good," Ron said, his tone cautious. "Just as long as he doesn't rope us into feeding those blasted skrewts again. I'm not losing another finger."

Hermione suddenly gasped, her face lighting up with excitement. "Oh! I haven't asked Hagrid to join S.P.E.W. yet! I'll just nip upstairs to grab the badges—wait for me!"

Without waiting for a response, she darted up the marble staircase, leaving Dahlia and Ron standing in the entrance hall.

Ron sighed. "She's obsessed. You'd think she was starting her own underground rebellion."

"She kind of is," Dahlia said with a shrug, her lips twitching with amusement. Her attention was drawn to a group entering the hall. "Hey, Ron—look."

The Beauxbatons students had returned, their elegant forms catching the attention of everyone still lingering near the Goblet of Fire. The veela girl stood at the center of the group, her beauty radiant even in the dull morning light streaming through the windows. All eyes seemed to follow her as Madame Maxime organized her students into a line.

"Blimey," Ron muttered, transfixed by the veela girl. "She's unreal. D'you reckon they even have to try? Just drop their names in, flash a smile, and the Goblet picks them on the spot."

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron. Pretty sure the Goblet doesn't care about looks."

"Well, what do you reckon happens to the ones who aren't chosen?" Ron asked, tearing his gaze away from the veela just long enough to look at Dahlia. "Think they'll go back to school or stick around to watch?"

"Probably stay," Dahlia mused. "Madame Maxime's judging, so it wouldn't make sense for them to leave. Besides, who'd want to miss the action?"

One by one, the Beauxbatons students stepped across the Age Line, gracefully depositing their names into the Goblet. The flames turned red and sparked each time a name was accepted. Dahlia watched in quiet fascination as the veela girl added her name before returning to her peers.

Hermione reappeared with a loud rattling of the box of badges. "Got them!" she announced brightly.

Ron groaned, taking a step toward the front doors. "Come on, before she starts pinning those things on the trees or something."

Dahlia chuckled as they followed him out onto the grounds, where the autumn air was crisp and cool. As they approached Hagrid's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they noticed a powder-blue carriage parked nearby.

"So that's where they're staying," Ron muttered, eyeing the massive structure.

The elephantine horses grazing in the nearby paddock stamped their hooves as the Beauxbatons students climbed back into the carriage. Dahlia admired the flying creatures, their enormous wings gleaming faintly in the light.

She knocked on Hagrid's door, and the booming barks of Fang greeted them from within.

"'Bout time!" Hagrid said cheerfully as he swung the door open. "Thought yeh'd forgotten where I live!"

"We've been really busy, Hagrid—" Hermione started but stopped mid-sentence, her mouth slightly open.

Hagrid was wearing what he clearly thought was his best outfit: a hairy brown suit that clung awkwardly to his massive frame, paired with a yellow-and-orange checkered tie. His hair, usually wild and untamed, had been slicked down into two uneven bunches with what looked like axle grease.

Dahlia bit her lip hard to keep from laughing. "You look... well, you look very polished today, Hagrid."

Hagrid beamed, either not catching or choosing to ignore the slight hesitation in her voice.

"Erm, where are the skrewts?" Hermione asked, steering the conversation away from his appearance.

"Out by the pumpkin patch," Hagrid said proudly. "Growin' big, they are! Nearly three foot now. Only trouble is, they've started killin' each other."

"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed, looking genuinely distressed.

"Eh, it's fine," Hagrid said, waving a massive hand. "Got 'em in separate boxes now. Still got about twenty left."

"Well, that's lucky," Ron muttered under his breath.

Hagrid either didn't hear or chose to ignore the sarcasm, ushering them inside.

The interior of Hagrid's cabin was as cozy as ever, with its large wooden table, patchwork quilt, and assortment of hams hanging from the ceiling. They sat down as Hagrid began brewing tea, the kettle bubbling merrily on the fire.

"You lot are gonna love this tournament," Hagrid said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Yeh've never seen anythin' like it. First task... ah, but I can't say."

"Go on, Hagrid!" Dahlia urged, leaning forward on her elbows, her emerald eyes bright with curiosity.

He grinned but shook his head firmly. "Not a chance. Don' wanna spoil it fer yeh. But I'll tell yeh this—it's gonna be spectacular. Champions'll have their work cut out, they will."

They spent the morning speculating about the tasks and the champions. Hagrid's enthusiasm was contagious, and Dahlia found herself eagerly discussing who might be selected.

"Think the twins have lost their beards yet?" Ron asked at one point, grinning.

"Not sure," Dahlia said with a laugh. "Though I doubt George will ever hear the end of it if he hasn't."

When Hagrid served lunch—what he called beef casserole—they politely tried it until Hermione unearthed a talon in hers. The three of them subtly pushed their plates aside after that, sharing amused glances as Hagrid went on about the glory of the Triwizard Tournament.

By half-past five, the grounds were bathed in dusky shadows, the chill of evening settling in. Dahlia pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, glancing toward the castle's glowing windows.

"We should head back," she said, standing and brushing off her robes. "The feast'll be starting soon—and the champions'll be announced."

Ron stretched, groaning. "About time. I've been starving since lunch, even with the talon casserole." He grinned mischievously at Dahlia, who rolled her eyes.

"I'll come with yeh," said Hagrid, setting aside his massive knitting needles and half-finished scarf. "Jus' give us a tick."

They waited as Hagrid ambled across the cabin to a chest of drawers near his bed. He rummaged noisily through it, muttering to himself. The three of them didn't pay much attention—until a pungent, eye-watering smell filled the air.

Ron coughed, waving a hand in front of his face. "Hagrid, what is that?"

"Eh?" Hagrid turned around, holding up a large bottle. "Oh, this? S' eau de cologne. Yeh like it?"

Hermione looked appalled, pinching her nose. "Hagrid... is that aftershave?"

"Bit much, maybe?" Dahlia suggested delicately, though her eyes watered from the overpowering stench.

Hagrid flushed beet-red, mumbling, "Reckon I overdid it. Hang on—" He stumped outside with the bottle, where they watched through the window as he dunked his face and neck into the water barrel.

Hermione shook her head in amazement. "Eau de cologne? Hagrid?"

"And the hair, and the suit," Dahlia added in a low voice. "He's really pulling out all the stops, isn't he?"

Ron was about to reply when he suddenly straightened. "Look!"

Outside, Hagrid had just stood up, patting his face dry. His blush deepened as he turned to greet Madame Maxime, who had emerged from the Beauxbatons carriage with her students trailing behind her. Hagrid spoke to her, his expression one of rapt adoration.

"He's got the same look he had when he was cooing over Norbert," Dahlia whispered, smirking.

Hermione crossed her arms. "He was supposed to wait for us!"

They watched as Hagrid offered his arm to Madame Maxime, who accepted it graciously. Together, they led the Beauxbatons students up to the castle, their enormous strides leaving the others to jog to keep pace.

"He fancies her!" Ron said, wide-eyed. "Merlin, imagine their kids. A herd of giants, stomping through the countryside."

Dahlia snorted. "They'd definitely need custom furniture."

The three of them stepped out of the cabin and into the deepening twilight. Drawing their cloaks tighter, they headed up the sloping lawn. As they neared the castle, Hermione nudged them excitedly.

"Ooh, it's them—look!"

The Durmstrang party was making their way up from the lake, their heavy cloaks billowing in the breeze. Viktor Krum walked alongside Karkaroff, his face set in a brooding expression.

Ron watched Krum intently, his excitement barely contained. "There he is! Think he knows he's got this in the bag?"

"Probably," Dahlia said, raising an eyebrow. "He doesn't exactly look nervous, does he?"

Krum didn't glance their way as the Durmstrang group entered the castle ahead of them. By the time they reached the Great Hall, it was nearly full. The golden plates sparkled in the candlelight, but the room's true centerpiece was the Goblet of Fire, now placed in front of Dumbledore's chair at the staff table.

Fred and George waved them over. Their faces were, once again, clean-shaven.

"Recovered from your heartbreak?" Dahlia teased as she slid into a seat next to them.

"Barely," said George, clutching his chest theatrically.

"Still hoping it's Angelina," Fred said, leaning back in his chair.

"So do I!" Hermione said eagerly.

The feast began, but the food—which was just as lavish as always—went largely untouched. Dahlia found herself pushing pumpkin tart around her plate, her mind focused entirely on the Goblet. The anticipation in the Hall was palpable. Students craned their necks toward the staff table, murmuring and fidgeting as Dumbledore finished his meal.

At last, the plates vanished with a faint clang, and Dumbledore rose.

"Finally," Ron whispered, leaning forward.

"The goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledore announced, his voice calm but carrying an edge of excitement. "I estimate that it requires one more minute."

With a wave of his wand, all the candles in the Hall went out, save for the flickering lights inside the carved pumpkins. The Goblet of Fire glowed brilliantly, its blue-white flames casting eerie shadows on the walls.

The tension in the room was electric.

The flames turned red. Sparks flew. A tongue of fire shot into the air, and a charred piece of parchment floated out. Dumbledore caught it and read, his voice ringing out clearly:

"The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum."

The Hall erupted into applause. Krum rose from the Slytherin table and walked up to Dumbledore, his gait as casual as if he were strolling onto a Quidditch pitch.

"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff, clapping enthusiastically.

As the cheering subsided, the Goblet turned red again. Another piece of parchment flew out.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!"

Dahlia nudged Ron. "It's her!" she said, pointing as Fleur rose gracefully, her silvery hair catching the light.

"Figures," Ron muttered, watching in awe as Fleur walked elegantly up to Dumbledore and then through the side chamber door.

Two of the remaining Beauxbatons girls dissolved into tears, and Dahlia bit back a sympathetic smile. "Disappointed" was putting it lightly.

And then it was time.

The Goblet flared red once more, sending up a third slip of parchment. Dumbledore read the name aloud, his voice cutting through the tense silence:

"The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!"

The Hufflepuff table exploded with cheers, the loudest of the night. Cedric's grin was wide as he made his way to the staff table, high-fiving his housemates.

"Lucky git," Ron muttered.

Dumbledore raised his hands, calling for quiet. "Well, we now have our three champions!" he began, but his voice trailed off as the Goblet flared red again.

Every head turned to watch as another piece of parchment emerged from the flames. Dumbledore caught it and stared at it, his brows furrowing. A hush fell over the Hall as he read the name aloud:

"Dahlia Potter."

Chapter Text

Dahlia sat frozen, her heart pounding in her chest so loudly it drowned out the gasps and murmurs rippling through the Hall. Every head had turned to look at her. The shock on their faces mirrored what she felt—numb, disbelieving, and utterly blindsided.

"This can't be happening," she thought desperately, her mind racing. "Sweet Salazar, this has to be a joke. A really, really bad joke."

The buzzing noise in the Hall grew louder, a swelling chorus of whispers and incredulous muttering. Some students were even standing to get a better look at her, their eyes wide with confusion or suspicion.

Up at the staff table, Professor McGonagall shot to her feet, her expression tight with alarm. She swept past Ludo Bagman and Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Dumbledore, who leaned in, his brow furrowing deeply.

Dahlia turned helplessly to Ron and Hermione, who sat beside her with identical looks of shock. Beyond them, the entire Gryffindor table gaped at her, mouths open in collective disbelief.

"I didn't put my name in," Dahlia said, her voice low and shaky, as though saying it aloud would make it real. "You know I didn't."

Both of them stared just as blankly at him.

At the staff table, Dumbledore straightened up. His voice rang out again, calm but firm.

"Dahlia Potter! Up here, if you please!"

Dahlia's throat went dry. "No," she muttered, shaking her head instinctively. "Nope. I'm not going up there. I didn't put my name in. This has to be some sort of mistake!"

"Dahlia," Hermione whispered urgently, leaning in. "You've got to go. It's the rules. If your name came out, you have to."

"But I didn't!" Dahlia snapped, her voice cracking. She could feel the weight of the entire school's eyes pressing down on her, like she was pinned under a spotlight.

"Go on," Hermione urged, giving her a nudge.

With great reluctance, Dahlia pushed her chair back and got to her feet. Her knees wobbled, and she nearly tripped on the hem of her robes as she took a shaky step forward. The buzz in the Hall swelled to a roar, a mixture of shock, confusion, and curiosity.

The walk to the staff table felt endless. The gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables seemed to stretch on forever, the space heavy with judgmental stares. She caught snippets of whispered conversations as she passed.

"Why her?"
"Didn't even know she wanted to compete."
"Bet she cheated."
"She has to be lying—Potter always gets the attention."

The last comment stung, though Dahlia forced herself to keep her head high. She couldn't let them see how much this was rattling her.

When she finally reached Dumbledore, her palms were clammy, and her breathing was shallow. He gazed at her steadily, his expression unreadable.

"Well... through the door, Dahlia," he said quietly.

"But, Professor," Dahlia began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I didn't put my name in. I swear."

"I believe you," Dumbledore said, his eyes flickering with something like concern. "But the Goblet's decision is final. You must go."

Her heart sank. She glanced to her left, hoping for some sort of reassurance from Hagrid, but he sat at the far end of the table, his expression as shocked as everyone else's. No wink, no smile, just wide-eyed disbelief.

Dahlia swallowed hard, nodding slowly. She turned and moved toward the door behind the staff table. Her footsteps echoed unnaturally loud in the hushed Hall.

She couldn't resist a quick glance back over her shoulder. The sea of faces staring back at her was a blur of confusion and doubt.

As she reached the door, she clenched her fists, steeling herself. Whoever had done this—whoever had decided to put her name in the Goblet of Fire—was going to regret it.

Dahlia stepped through the door into the smaller chamber and found herself surrounded by imposing portraits of witches and wizards, their painted faces swiveling to scrutinize her as she entered. A roaring fire crackled in the stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The room's air was heavy with tension, the three champions—Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour—clustered near the fire, their figures framed by the orange glow.

Viktor leaned against the mantelpiece, his brooding face turned downward. Cedric stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze distant but steady. Fleur, with her cascade of silvery hair, glanced up as Dahlia entered.

"What is it?" Fleur asked, her light accent giving her words an airy lilt. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"

Dahlia blinked at her, unsure how to explain what had just happened. Before she could speak, the door behind her swung open, and Ludo Bagman strode in, beaming unnaturally. He took Dahlia by the arm, ignoring her attempt to pull away.

"Extraordinary!" Bagman exclaimed. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen . . . lady," he added, gesturing toward the fire. "May I introduce—remarkable though it may seem—the fourth Triwizard champion: Dahlia Potter!"

The room fell silent, save for the crackling fire.

Krum straightened, his brows knitting as he cast Dahlia a measured, skeptical look. Cedric blinked, his confusion evident, while Fleur let out a short, incredulous laugh.

"Zis is a joke, non?" she said, tossing her hair.

"No joke, I assure you!" said Bagman, his enthusiasm undimmed. "Dahlia's name came out of the Goblet of Fire!"

"Impossible!" Fleur snapped, stepping closer. Her blue eyes narrowed as she appraised Dahlia. "'Ow could zis 'appen? She is too young!"

Before Dahlia could respond, the door burst open again, admitting Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Professors McGonagall, Snape, Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, Mr. Crouch, and Alastor Moody. Their presence carried an electric charge into the room.

"Madame Maxime!" Fleur exclaimed, turning to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zis little girl is to compete also!"

Dahlia's shock began to give way to anger, a warmth rising in her chest. Little girl? The term felt like a slap, and she could feel the heat of every eye on her.

Madame Maxime turned her imposing frame toward Dumbledore. "What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?"

"I'd rather like to know that myself," Karkaroff said icily, his sharp voice cutting through the room. "Two Hogwarts champions? Is this some scheme to give the host school an unfair advantage?"

"C'est impossible!" Madame Maxime declared, her deep voice resonating. "Zis is unjust!"

"It's no one's fault but Potter's," Snape interjected softly, his dark eyes glittering with malice. "She has been breaking rules since the day she set foot in this castle."

Dahlia snapped her head toward him. "Excuse me?" she said sharply, her voice rising over the murmurs. "I don't know why you all think I would want to enter this tournament, but I didn't. I didn't ask for this, and I sure as hell don't have a death wish!"

"Enough," Dumbledore said firmly, his calm voice cutting through the tension. "This situation is unprecedented, but the rules are clear. Dahlia's name came out of the Goblet of Fire, and she is bound to compete."

"But Dumbly-dorr—" Madame Maxime began, only to be interrupted.

"If you have an alternative, I'd be delighted to hear it," Dumbledore said, his tone polite but final.

Madame Maxime glared, her lips pursed in frustration, but she said nothing.

"Someone hoodwinked the goblet," Moody growled, stepping into the firelight. His magical eye swiveled toward Dahlia. "They wanted her in this tournament for a reason, and it wasn't for the prize money."

"Ridiculous!" Karkaroff barked.

But Moody leaned in, his scarred face inches from Karkaroff's. "Think what you want, but you all know I'm right. Someone's playing a dangerous game."

Moody's words hung heavily in the air, the weight of suspicion and unease pressing down on everyone. Dahlia's anger ebbed slightly, replaced by a simmering frustration. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, feeling the scrutinizing gazes of the adults—and the champions—around her.

Cedric stepped forward, his brows furrowed in confusion. "But why would someone do this? What would they have to gain from putting Dahlia in the tournament?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Moody replied, his magical eye swiveling toward Cedric before darting back to Dahlia. "And it's one we'd best answer before the tasks begin."

"You're assuming there's foul play," Karkaroff sneered. "Perhaps the girl simply wanted the glory."

Dahlia's patience snapped. "I don't care about your glory or anyone else's!" she shot back, her voice echoing. "If someone else put my name in that goblet, they're trying to get me killed. So maybe stop pointing fingers at me and start thinking about who really benefits from this!"

"Miss Potter," McGonagall interjected sharply, her tone a warning. Dahlia fell silent but glared at Karkaroff, her green eyes sparking.

Dumbledore raised his hands, commanding the room's attention with his quiet authority. "Enough," he said. "This is not the time for accusations. We have a problem before us, and it must be resolved calmly." He turned to the other heads of schools. "The Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract. As reluctant as we may feel about this outcome, Dahlia is now a participant in the tournament."

"Zis is absurd," Madame Maxime muttered, shaking her head.

"And deeply irregular," Karkaroff added, his tone clipped.

"Be that as it may, the rules are clear," Dumbledore said firmly. He turned to the champions. "Viktor, Fleur, Cedric—Dahlia will now be competing alongside you. You will all need to prepare yourselves accordingly."

Cedric frowned but nodded, his expression reluctant but accepting. Viktor gave a terse, unreadable nod. Fleur, though, looked visibly displeased.

"You expect us to accept zis?" Fleur said sharply. "A child, competing in zis tournament? It is madness."

Dahlia opened her mouth to retort, but Fleur wasn't finished. "And what of ze prize? One thousand Galleons! Shall we believe zis child 'as no interest in zat? No ambition to claim it for herself?"

Dahlia's cheeks flushed, her anger flaring again. "You think I care about the money?" she spat. Her voice rose as she switched to French, the words spilling out fast and sharp. "Je ne suis pas ici pour de l'argent, ou pour prouver quoi que ce soit à qui que ce soit ! Si c'était toi qu'on essayait de piéger, tu comprendrais, mais tu es trop occupée à te plaindre pour voir la vérité !"

("I am not here for money or to prove anything to anyone! If it were you being set up, you'd understand, but you're too busy complaining to see the truth!")

Fleur's eyes widened in surprise, and her expression darkened as she fired back in French.

"Ne me parle pas sur ce ton ! Tu ne sais rien de moi, ni de mes motivations !"

("Don't speak to me in that tone! You know nothing about me or my motivations!")

"Enough." Dumbledore's calm yet firm voice silenced the brewing argument. He turned his steady gaze to Dahlia. "Do you swear, on your honor, that you did not enter your name into the Goblet of Fire, nor ask another to do so for you?"

"Yes," Dahlia said firmly, her green eyes blazing. "I swear."

"Then someone else did," Moody growled, his gaze sweeping the room. "And they meant for her to be in danger."

"Danger?" Fleur repeated incredulously, her voice rising. "Zis is ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous or not," Mr. Crouch said, stepping forward with an air of finality, "the rules are clear. The Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract. Dahlia Potter is now a champion, whether she wishes to be or not."

Dahlia's knees nearly gave out. "You can't be serious," she whispered, looking at Dumbledore.

"I'm afraid he is," Dumbledore replied gently, his expression filled with regret.

"But—"

"No buts, Miss Potter," Mr. Crouch interjected. "The first task will take place on November 24th. Prepare yourself accordingly."

Dumbledore turned to the champions with a calm but authoritative tone. "This is a trying situation for all involved. I ask for your patience and understanding. Dahlia did not ask for this any more than you did." His gaze softened slightly as he looked at her. "We must work together, not against each other, to navigate what lies ahead."

He then addressed Cedric and Dahlia directly. "Cedric, Dahlia, I suggest you both return to your dormitories. It has been a long evening, and tomorrow will no doubt bring new challenges."

Cedric hesitated, glancing at Dahlia as if to say something, but he held back and nodded. "Right. Come on, Dahlia."

Dahlia lingered for a moment, her gaze flicking between the adults in the room. She felt an urge to say more, to argue, but the fire in Dumbledore's eyes told her it was futile. She exhaled sharply and turned to follow Cedric out of the room.

As they walked side by side through the dimly lit corridor, the silence between them felt heavy, almost oppressive. Cedric glanced at Dahlia from the corner of his eye, her face pale and drawn, her shoulders tense with the weight of the evening's events.

He finally broke the silence. "That was... something."

Dahlia let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the quiet hallway. "That's putting it lightly. It's been one disaster after another tonight."

Cedric hesitated before speaking again, his tone careful. "For what it's worth, I believe you."

She stopped walking and turned to look at him, the sincerity in his voice catching her off guard. "You do?"

He nodded, meeting her gaze. "Yeah. You didn't look too thrilled when you came in the room earlier. You looked... shocked. Scared, even."

Dahlia sighed, running a hand through her dark hair. "Because I was scared. I didn't ask for this, Cedric. I didn't want this. I barely made it through the past three years alive, and now I'm supposed to compete in a tournament designed to kill people? It's insane."

"I can't argue with that," Cedric admitted. "The tasks... they're no joke. But maybe it helps, knowing someone believes you."

Dahlia's lips twitched into a small, tired smile. "Maybe it does," she said softly. She glanced at him, a flicker of gratitude in her emerald eyes. "Thanks, Cedric. Really."

"Anytime," he said with a faint smile of his own. They resumed walking, the tension between them easing slightly.

After a few moments, Cedric spoke again. "You know, it's okay to be scared. Everyone would be in your position. But you're smart, Dahlia, and you've got a lot of people rooting for you—even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

Her smile softened, and she nodded. "Thanks, Cedric."

They parted ways at the staircase leading to Gryffindor Tower, and Dahlia felt just a little lighter. For the first time that night, it seemed like she wasn't entirely on her own.

Was anyone besides Ron and Hermione going to believe her? Doubt clawed at Dahlia's chest as she trudged up the staircase. Would the entire school think she'd somehow schemed her way into the tournament? It was absurd. How could anyone believe she'd want this when she was up against competitors with three more years of magical education?

The tasks ahead wouldn't just be dangerous—they'd be public, a spectacle for the entire school. And what good would the prize money do her? A thousand Galleons might seem tempting to some, but Dahlia knew it wouldn't fix anything in her life that truly mattered.

Yet someone had thought it through—someone had wanted her in the tournament badly enough to manipulate the Goblet of Fire. To what end? To humiliate her? To endanger her? Or worse, to kill her?

Her blood ran cold at the thought. Was Moody right to suspect foul play? Was this just a cruel prank gone too far, or was it something darker? The answer came to her immediately, unbidden but undeniable: Voldemort. He had wanted her dead since she was a baby. But how? How could he reach into the safety of Hogwarts, especially in his current, weakened state?

Her musings were interrupted as she found herself at the portrait hole. Dahlia blinked, startled to see the Fat Lady in her frame, now accompanied by the smug Violet.

"Well, well, well," the Fat Lady said, her tone brimming with curiosity. "Violet's told me everything. Our little school champion, is it?"

"Balderdash," Dahlia muttered dully.

"It most certainly isn't!" Violet huffed indignantly.

"No, Vi, that's the password," the Fat Lady corrected, swinging open to admit her.

Dahlia barely had time to step through the portrait hole before a wave of noise assaulted her.

"DAHLIA POTTER!"

Her name rang out amidst deafening cheers and applause. Hands grabbed at her from all sides, pulling her into the common room where what felt like the entire house awaited her.

"Why didn't you tell us you entered?" Fred bellowed, his tone a mix of annoyance and awe.

"How'd you do it without getting a beard?" George demanded. "That's brilliant!"

"I didn't," Dahlia said, her voice straining to rise above the din. "I don't know how—"

But she was cut off as Angelina swooped in, grinning. "If it couldn't be me, at least it's a Gryffindor!"

Katie Bell added, "You'll get to show up Diggory for that last Quidditch match!"

"We've got food, Dahlia, come and have some —" 

"I'm not hungry," Dahlia protested as someone shoved a plate of food into her hands, "I had enough at the feast—"

No one listened. Lee Jordan unearthed a Gryffindor banner and threw it over her shoulders like a cloak. Dahlia tugged at the fabric, but the knots Lee had tied refused to budge. She was trapped—literally and figuratively—amidst the chaos.

"I didn't put my name in!" she repeated over and over again, but the more she denied it, the more they seemed to ignore her. The crowd pressed butterbeer into her hands, crisps and peanuts into her fingers, and questions into her ears.

"HOW DID YOU DO IT?"

"WHAT SPELL DID YOU USE?"

"WHAT'S YOUR STRATEGY FOR THE FIRST TASK?"

"Enough!" Dahlia finally bellowed, her voice cracking with exhaustion. "I'm going to bed!"

She wrestled her way free from the crowd, glaring at George as he made to protest, and stormed toward the stairs. Her feet slowed, though, when she spotted Ron sitting in a corner, watching her.

"There you are," she said, relief flooding her voice. "Where's Hermione?"

"She's in your dorm," Ron replied. His grin looked forced, almost painful.

Dahlia hesitated, the weight of the night settling heavily on her shoulders. She tugged at the Gryffindor banner still draped around her, finally managing to pull it free and tossing it onto the couch. "What's with the face?" she asked cautiously.

Ron's strained smile vanished. "Congratulations."

Her stomach dropped. "What d'you mean, congratulations?"

"Well," Ron began, his tone edging toward sarcasm, "no one else got past the Age Line. Not even Fred and George. What'd you use—the Invisibility Cloak?"

"I didn't use anything," Dahlia snapped. "I told you, I didn't put my name in that goblet."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, right. Someone just happened to drop your name in for you. Totally believable."

Dahlia's patience wore thin. "Why would I lie about this?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ron retorted, his voice rising. "Maybe because you didn't want to share the glory? A thousand Galleons, Dahlia! And no end-of-year exams!"

"That's not what this is about!" Dahlia shouted, her voice trembling with anger. The room around them had gone quiet, everyone now watching the exchange.

Ron crossed his arms, his expression cold. "Yeah, okay. Sure. But you said this morning you'd have done it last night if you thought you'd get away with it. So which is it, Dahlia?"

Her vision blurred with angry tears. She clenched her fists, breathing hard as her emotions spilled over. "Oh, fuck you, Ron," she spat, her voice shaking. "I thought you, of all people, would believe me."

The room seemed to hold its collective breath as she stormed out of the common room.

The door to the portrait hole slammed shut behind Dahlia, leaving a stunned silence in her wake. Every pair of eyes in the common room turned toward Ron, who was still sitting in the corner, his face red and his jaw clenched tight.

"Blimey, Ron," Fred said, breaking the quiet, his voice low and sharp. "What the hell was that?"

"Yeah," added George, crossing his arms. "Not exactly your finest moment, little brother."

Ron glared at them, but his voice faltered. "She—she's lying. I know she is. She had to have put her name in. How else would it have gotten there?"

"Maybe someone else put it in, like she said," Ginny snapped from her spot near the fire. Her expression was equal parts confused and furious. "Why can't you believe her?"

"Because it doesn't make sense!" Ron shot back. "Why would someone else enter her? It's not like—"

"Oh, I don't know," said Fred, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe because she's Dahlia Potter? You know, the girl who's been targeted by every dark wizard worth their weight in Galleons?"

"Exactly," Ginny agreed, leaning forward. "Someone could've done it to hurt her. Did that thought cross your thick skull, Ron?"

"She's been through enough already," muttered Neville from his armchair. He looked pale, fidgeting with the edge of his sweater. "You'd think we'd all know better than to gang up on her."

Ron's face twisted in frustration. "It's not ganging up if she's not telling the truth!"

"Are you serious?" Angelina interjected, her tone sharp as a razor. "She looked ready to burst into tears, Ron. Does that look like someone celebrating a big win to you?"

"She didn't even eat the food we gave her," Katie added quietly, glancing toward the platter still sitting on the table. "And she loves the feast leftovers."

Lee Jordan, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, finally spoke up. "Look, I don't care how her name got in. What I care about is that she's clearly scared out of her mind. Did you see the way she was looking at us? Like we were all accusing her of something she didn't do."

Fred turned back to Ron, who looked increasingly uncomfortable. "You're supposed to be her best mate. If anyone was going to have her back, it should've been you."

"Exactly," George chimed in. "You've seen what she's been through, Ron. And you're here calling her a liar instead of asking if she's okay?"

Ron's mouth opened as though to respond, but no words came out. He slumped back into his chair, his face darkening with something between guilt and stubbornness.

"Whatever." Ginny rolled her eyes, clearly disgusted. "I'm going to check on her." She stood up and headed for the portrait hole.

"No, let her be," Fred said, stopping Ginny with a hand on her shoulder. "She probably needs some space. Besides"—he shot Ron a glare—"it's not like she's gonna want to talk to anyone right now. Least of all us."

The room settled into an uneasy quiet. No one seemed in the mood to celebrate anymore. The banner that Lee had tied around Dahlia lay crumpled in the corner, and the butterbeer and snacks sat untouched on the table.

Neville finally broke the silence. "I hope she's okay."

"So do I," Ginny murmured, her eyes fixed on the portrait hole as though willing Dahlia to come back.

"Of course she's not okay," Fred muttered under his breath, his voice uncharacteristically grim. "Who would be, after all that?"

Dahlia's footsteps echoed in the empty corridor as she sought out a quiet spot. Her chest ached, and her face felt hot with the effort of holding back tears.

Finally, she slid down against a wall, pressing her palms to her face as the tears came. Hot, angry sobs wracked her body, each one fueled by the frustration of the evening: the disbelief, the accusations, the suffocating attention.

She stayed like that for a long moment, letting herself feel the weight of it all. She wasn't sure when she would stop feeling like the loneliest person in the world—but for now, she simply let herself cry.

Dahlia sat on the cold stone floor of the corridor, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her head bowed low. Her breaths came out uneven, muffled against the fabric of her robes. The weight of the evening was suffocating. The last thing she wanted was company, let alone from someone like—

"Well, well, well, look who it is," drawled a familiar, smug voice.

Dahlia didn't even look up. "Get lost, Malfoy. I don't have time for more lies and accusations."

"Oh, we're not here for that, Potter," Malfoy replied smoothly.

Her head shot up, her tear-streaked face locking onto him with a glare sharp enough to pierce armor. "Oh? Then what are you here for? To mock me? To laugh at me?" Her voice cracked under the weight of her emotions. "Look, Malfoy, for once in your life, just leave me alone. This year has been bad enough as it is—seeing him with that insufferable fiancée of his when he was supposed to be courting me. And now I get dragged into this bloody death tournament that I didn't even want to be part of! Worst of all, my best friend doesn't even believe me! And—" Her voice wavered as she took a shaky breath, her emerald eyes shimmering with fresh tears. "And today is my parents' death anniversary," she finished in a whisper.

The corridor fell silent for a moment, except for the faint sound of Dahlia's uneven breathing. She hadn't even noticed the group standing behind Malfoy: Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe.

Malfoy's usual smirk faltered. His pale grey eyes softened in a way that Dahlia had never seen before. "We just wanted to say," he began hesitantly, "that we believe you."

Dahlia blinked, her tear-filled gaze narrowing suspiciously. "What?"

"You looked like you wanted to be anywhere but the Great Hall when Dumbledore called your name," Pansy said softly, stepping forward. Her usual haughty tone was absent, replaced with something bordering on compassion.

"And you're right—Greengrass is insufferable," Gregory muttered.

"Always bossing us around, acting like she owns us," Vincent grumbled, earning a nod of agreement from Blaise.

Blaise smirked faintly and gave Dahlia a small bow. "We would've much preferred you over Greengrass, principessa."

Dahlia stared at them, utterly bewildered. "What is this? Some kind of joke?"

Draco shook his head. "No joke. We wanted to offer you a truce. And—we'd like to help you survive this tournament. If you'll let us."

Dahlia frowned, her suspicion flaring again. "And why, exactly, should I believe you? You've been out to make my life miserable since first year. What's changed?"

Draco hesitated, then shrugged, his usual air of arrogance tempered by an uncharacteristic honesty. "Because we swear it on our honor. And, well... I was only mad because you rejected my friendship back in first year. And..." He paused, as if debating whether to continue. "You're the heiress of the Black family. I can't exactly make an enemy of the future Lady Black. It would be... unwise, considering I'm a Black by my mother's side."

Dahlia's lips twitched in spite of herself. "Too late for that, Malfoy. But... fine. Let's call a truce."

The Slytherins exchanged glances before breaking into quiet laughter.

"All right then," Draco said, clearing his throat and offering a dramatic, formal bow. "Well met, Heiress Potter. I am Draco, Heir of the Most Ancient and Venerable House of Malfoy."

"Well met," Pansy chimed in, stepping forward with a regal nod. "I am Pansy, Heiress of the Most Ancient and Storied House of Parkinson."

Gregory followed suit, his voice gruff but earnest. "Well met. I'm Gregory, Heir of the Most Ancient and Stalwart House of Goyle."

Vincent shifted awkwardly before muttering, "Well met. I'm Vincent, Heir of the Most Ancient and Proud House of Crabbe."

Blaise smirked and leaned casually against the wall. "What? Don't look at me—I'm already friends with Dahlia. Thanks to that fascinating Ancient Runes research project we worked on." He gave Dahlia a playful wink, earning a small chuckle from her.

Dahlia looked at them all, a mixture of confusion and amusement flickering across her face. After a long pause, she smiled faintly. "Well met, all of you. Let's see if this truce of ours holds."

"Let's make sure it does," Draco replied, his smirk returning, though less cutting than usual.

The group chuckled, the tension between them easing ever so slightly. For the first time in what felt like forever, Dahlia felt a flicker of relief, even if it came from the unlikeliest of sources.

After parting ways with the Slytherins, Dahlia trudged back to Gryffindor Tower, the exhaustion of the day pressing heavily on her shoulders. By the time she arrived, the common room was silent, the earlier celebratory chaos long since dissipated. She made her way up to the girls' dormitory, careful not to make any noise.

When she pushed open the door, she saw Hermione curled up in her bed, fast asleep, her bushy hair spilling over her pillow. Dahlia sighed softly, grateful for the quiet, and made her way to her own bed. She pulled the curtains around her four-poster shut and cast a quick Muffliato charm to muffle any sound she might make. With a whispered Lumos, her wand lit up, illuminating the space around her.

She reached into her bedside table and pulled out her two-way mirror. Her fingers trembled slightly as she clutched it, muttering, "Sirius Black."

For a few moments, the mirror's surface remained cloudy, and she feared he might not answer. But then, Sirius's face appeared, slightly out of focus at first. His long hair was a mess, sticking to his sweaty forehead, and he was very clearly shirtless.

"Dahlia?" he said, his voice slightly breathless, as though she'd caught him mid-action.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow, her worry momentarily replaced by curiosity. "Um... did I interrupt something?"

Sirius blinked, then glanced off to the side as if confirming something unseen. "Yes—wait, no." He stopped abruptly, his expression shifting as he noticed her red, puffy eyes and the tension in her face. "What happened, Prongslet?"

The nickname, so familiar and comforting, almost broke her resolve. Her voice wavered as she began to recount the events of the evening—how her name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, how the entire school thought she'd entered herself, and how even Ron didn't believe her.

"I didn't want to be part of this stupid tournament," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "But now I'm stuck, and Moody thinks someone's out to get me."

Sirius's expression darkened, his usually carefree demeanor vanishing. "Moody's right," he said firmly.

Dahlia frowned. "You don't think he's just being paranoid?"

Sirius leaned closer to the mirror, his grey eyes sharp and serious. "No. Alastor Moody doesn't throw around suspicions lightly. If he says someone's after you, Dahlia, you need to take it seriously."

Before she could respond, another voice joined the conversation. "He's right."

Remus Lupin's face appeared next to Sirius in the mirror. He looked just as disheveled as Sirius, though at least he had the decency to be wearing a shirt. His usually calm features were lined with concern.

"Take care, Dahlia," Remus said gently. "We know you'll be brilliant. You've handled worse before."

"But that's just it," Dahlia said, frustration bubbling in her voice. "The others—I mean, Cedric, Krum, and Fleur—they're so much more experienced than I am. They've had more years of magical education. How am I supposed to keep up with them?"

Remus's expression softened further. "You're underestimating yourself, Prongslet. Magical experience isn't just about knowledge of spells. Your raw magical ability—your instincts—are extraordinary. They'll give you an edge that no textbook can teach."

Sirius grinned suddenly, the shadow of his usual playful self returning. "Besides, you've got something else they don't have."

Dahlia raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Me, of course," Sirius said with a dramatic toss of his messy hair, earning a chuckle from both Dahlia and Remus.

"Don't let him distract you," Remus added with a small smile. "But Sirius is right. You've got us—and Hermione, too. You're not alone in this, Dahlia. And if anyone can outwit a few older champions, it's you."

Dahlia managed a small, grateful smile. "Thanks. Both of you."

Sirius’s grin widened, a familiar glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Ah, Prongslet, one last thing before we let you go—make sure your wand is in perfect condition.”

Dahlia raised an eyebrow, her head tilting slightly in confusion. “Why? I mean, I always do, but... what’s going on?”

But before she could press for an answer, Sirius and Remus's faces disappeared from the mirror.

"Sirius! Remus!" she hissed, but the surface remained blank. With a frustrated sigh, she placed the mirror back on her bedside table and extinguished her wand.

As she lay in the darkness, her mind churned with thoughts of the tournament, her parents, and the cryptic advice Sirius had left her with. Whatever tomorrow held, she would face it head-on. She had no other choice.

Chapter Text

When Dahlia woke up on Sunday morning, the chill in the dormitory felt sharper than usual. For a moment, she stared at the canopy of her bed, trying to remember why her chest felt so heavy. Then the events of the previous night came crashing down on her—the Goblet, her name, the accusations. She groaned and sat up, yanking the curtains of her four-poster bed open.

Her gaze immediately darted to Hermione's bed, but it was empty, the blankets neatly smoothed out. Hermione had obviously gone down to breakfast already.

Dahlia sighed and swung her legs out of bed, preparing to get dressed, but a knock on the dormitory door interrupted her.

"Lia?" came Hermione's voice. The door creaked open, and Hermione peeked in, holding up a napkin-wrapped stack of toast. "I thought you'd be up here."

Dahlia blinked in surprise, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You brought me toast?"

"Well, I figured you might not be in the mood to face everyone just yet," Hermione said with a shrug, stepping inside. "Want to go for a walk?"

"Good idea," Dahlia said gratefully, slipping into a thick sweater.

The two of them made their way downstairs and crossed the entrance hall, avoiding the Great Hall entirely. Soon, they were striding across the frosty lawn toward the lake, the Durmstrang ship looming in the distance like a shadow against the rippling water. The chilly air nipped at their cheeks, but the brisk walk helped clear Dahlia's head.

As they munched on their toast, Dahlia recounted everything that had happened after she left the Gryffindor table the previous night. Her words spilled out in a rush—her conversation with the Slytherins, her fears about the tournament, and Moody's suspicions.

To her immense relief, Hermione didn't question a single word.

"Well, of course I knew you hadn't entered yourself," Hermione said firmly when Dahlia finished. "The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name—honestly, anyone who knows you could tell."

Dahlia let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Thanks, 'Mione."

"But the real question," Hermione continued, frowning, "is who did put your name in? Because Moody's right, Lia—it couldn't have been a student. Fooling the Goblet and bypassing Dumbledore's enchantments? That's advanced magic."

Dahlia's brow furrowed. "Do you really think someone's trying to hurt me?"

Hermione hesitated before nodding. "I think you need to be careful. Really careful."

Dahlia looked out at the lake, her reflection rippling faintly in the water. The idea that someone wanted her dead was too big to fully process. She shook her head, pushing the thought aside. "Have you seen Ron?" she asked abruptly.

Hermione's expression shifted. "Erm... yes. He was at breakfast."

"And?"

Hermione sighed, clearly reluctant to answer. "He's... complicated right now. I don't think he believes you entered yourself, not really."

"'Not really'?" Dahlia repeated, narrowing her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hermione bit her lip. "It's obvious, isn't it? He's jealous."

"Jealous?" Dahlia stared at her as though she'd suggested Ron had sprouted dragon wings. "Jealous of what? Does he want to be the one dragged into a death trap in front of the entire school? Because he can have it!"

Hermione gave her a long-suffering look. "Lia, it's not that simple. Ron's always been in the background, you know? At home, he's got six siblings to compete with, and at school, you're—well, you're you. You're famous, people look at you all the time, and he's stuck in your shadow. He doesn't talk about it, but it's there."

Dahlia's temper flared, her fists clenching. "So it's my fault, is it?"

"No! Of course not!" Hermione said quickly. "It's just how he feels, even if it's unfair. And I'm not saying it's right—I'm just saying it explains why he's acting like this."

"Well, great," Dahlia said bitterly. "Tell him from me he's welcome to all the attention. He can take the stares and whispers and people gawping at my scar every time I walk into a room. I'd happily trade places."

"I'm not telling him anything," Hermione said firmly. "You'll have to talk to him yourself. It's the only way to fix this."

Dahlia stopped walking, turning to Hermione with an incredulous expression. "Talk to him? Why should I? He's the one acting like a prat!"

Hermione folded her arms, her expression hardening. "Because he's your best friend, Lia. And if you don't sort this out now, it'll only get worse."

"I'm not running after him to beg for his forgiveness!" Dahlia snapped, her voice rising. A flock of crows startled from a nearby tree, flapping noisily into the sky. "Maybe he'll believe I'm not enjoying myself after I get my neck broken in this stupid tournament!"

"That's not funny," Hermione said quietly, her tone cutting through Dahlia's anger.

Dahlia hesitated, guilt flashing across her face.

"It's not funny at all," Hermione continued, her voice softer now but no less serious. "Lia, I've been thinking... you know what we've got to do, don't you? As soon as we get back to the castle?"

Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the—"

Hermione groaned, cutting her off with a look that managed to be both exasperated and amused. "I meant preparing for the first task, you idiot."

For the first time that morning, a small laugh escaped Dahlia. "All right, fair. But kicking Ron's backside is still on my list."

Later that day, when Dahlia and Hermione returned to the Gryffindor common room, they found the space unusually quiet. Nearly all of the Gryffindors were gathered there, standing in a loose group, their expressions awkward and a little guilty. The tension in the air was palpable until George finally broke the silence.

Stepping forward with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "Lia," he began, his tone earnest, "we owe you an apology."

Fred, standing beside him, nodded. "Yeah. We were out of line last night, celebrating like that. It was insensitive, and we didn't think about how you were feeling."

Dahlia blinked, caught off guard. "Oh, it's fine," she said quickly, waving her hand dismissively. "You don't have to—"

"Yes, we do," Lee Jordan interrupted, his voice firm. "We all do. We should've been thinking about you, not just the fact that Gryffindor had a champion in the tournament. It's not like you asked to be in this mess."

Angelina stepped forward, her dark eyes filled with sincerity. "Dahlia, you've been through enough already. We should've been there for you last night, not acting like it was some kind of victory party."

Katie nodded from her spot on the couch. "It wasn't fair, celebrating while you were probably still processing what happened."

Parvati, standing with Lavender, spoke up next. "We really are sorry, Dahlia. I can't imagine how overwhelming it must've been for you."

Seamus, who had been leaning against the wall, pushed off and stepped closer. "Yeah, I didn't even think about how weird all of this must feel for you. I'm sorry for being a clueless git."

Dahlia looked around the room, her heart squeezing as she took in their apologetic faces. "You're all making a big deal out of this," she said softly. "I wasn't mad at you. I promise. It's just... I didn't know how to feel about everything, and it was a lot all at once. But really, I'm not upset with any of you."

"No, but you had every right to be," Alicia Spinnet said firmly. "You're our friend, and we should've acted like it."

Ginny, standing near the edge of the group, crossed her arms and gave Dahlia a small smile. "Ron's still being a stubborn idiot, but he'll come around eventually. And if he doesn't, well..." She smirked, her fiery personality shining through. "You've got my permission to hex him into next week."

Fred and George grinned at that, their usual humor returning. "And we'll help," Fred added.

"Yeah," George agreed. "We've got some brilliant new pranks we've been meaning to test out on him anyway."

Dahlia laughed softly, the tension in her shoulders finally easing. "Thanks, everyone," she said, her voice warm. "It really does mean a lot."

The group started to relax, the earlier awkwardness melting away. Conversations resumed, and the familiar, comforting buzz of the Gryffindor common room filled the air again. Hermione placed a hand on Dahlia's shoulder, leaning in to whisper, "See? I told you they care about you. Sometimes it just takes a bit for them to show it."

Dahlia smiled at her, her heart feeling a little lighter. Despite the whirlwind of emotions that had surrounded her since the announcement, she felt a little steadier now, knowing her housemates had her back.

If Dahlia had thought matters would improve once everyone got used to the idea of her being a champion, the following days proved how wrong she was. The moment she returned to lessons, it became clear that the rest of the school—just like the Gryffindors—believed she had entered herself for the Triwizard Tournament. Unlike the Gryffindors, however, most weren't impressed.

The Hufflepuffs, who were usually warm and friendly toward the Gryffindors, had turned remarkably cold. Herbology class with them was unbearable. Dahlia found herself paired with Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley at the same tray for repotting Bouncing Bulbs. Normally, the two were chatty and polite, but now they ignored her completely.

When one particularly feisty Bulb wriggled free from Dahlia's hands and smacked her hard in the face, both boys burst into laughter.

"Oh, sorry," Ernie said, not sounding sorry at all as Dahlia rubbed her stinging cheek. "Maybe champions should stick to tasks better suited to their... skills."

"Shove off," Dahlia snapped, her patience running thin.

Even Professor Sprout seemed distant. Though she wasn't unkind, her curt nods and tight-lipped expressions left no doubt where her sympathies lay—with Cedric and her house.

Ron wasn't speaking to Dahlia either. At meals and in class, Hermione tried valiantly to mediate, sitting between them and attempting to spark conversations. But while both responded to her normally, they avoided looking at or speaking to each other directly.

Care of Magical Creatures brought a different kind of dread. Seeing Hagrid under normal circumstances was usually a bright spot in Dahlia's day, but that class meant facing the Slytherins for the first time since her name had come out of the Goblet.

Predictably, Daphne Greengrass wasted no time.

"Ah, look, girls, it's the champion," she drawled loudly as she approached with Millicent Bulstrode and Tracey Davis in tow. "Got your autograph books ready? Better get a signature now because I doubt she'll last long enough for the first task..."

Dahlia clenched her jaw and turned away, refusing to engage.

"Oh, ignoring us now?" Greengrass pressed, smirking. "Maybe she thinks that'll make her look mysterious. Doesn't matter—it won't make you any less dead when you get unalived on the first task."

Dahlia felt her heart drop at the mention of the first task. She didn't let Greengrass see the effect her words had, though, keeping her back straight as she joined Hagrid.

"Pay no attention ter that lot," Hagrid muttered, his beetle-black eyes narrowing in the Slytherins' direction. "They're jus' jealous, tha's all. 'Course I believe yeh didn' put yer name in. Dumbledore believes yeh, too."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Dahlia said quietly. She appreciated his faith in her, but it didn't ease the knot in her stomach. "I just... wish I knew who did."

Hagrid sighed, glancing out across the field where their classmates wrestled with Blast-Ended Skrewts that were now over three feet long and had developed shiny, grayish armor. Every few moments, an alarming bang echoed as one of the creatures shot forward, dragging an unlucky student with it.

"Look like they're havin' fun, don' they?" Hagrid said, his tone cheerful as he watched the chaos.

Dahlia snorted, despite herself. "If by 'fun,' you mean total misery..."

Hagrid gave her a sideways glance, his usual jovial expression softening into concern. "Everythin' seems ter happen ter yeh, don' it, Dahlia? First yer parents... then everythin' with You-Know-Who... now this."

Dahlia didn't respond. Her throat tightened as she thought about how unfair it all felt. She was only fourteen, and yet here she was again—at the center of chaos, suspicion, and danger.

The following days were some of Dahlia's worst at Hogwarts. The last time she had felt this isolated was during her second year when a large part of the school suspected her of attacking students. But back then, she'd had Ron.

Now, the absence of her best friend stung worse than the glares from the Hufflepuffs or the jeers from the Slytherins. If Ron didn't want to talk to her, she wasn't going to chase after him, but she couldn't deny how lonely it was to face all this without him.

Even the Ravenclaws, who she'd hoped might offer some neutral support, were distant. Most seemed to think she had tricked the Goblet into selecting her in a desperate bid for more fame.

Cedric, meanwhile, seemed to embody the ideal champion. With his sharp jawline, dark hair, and stormy gray eyes, he drew admiration wherever he went. Dahlia couldn't blame people for fawning over him; he was kind, capable, and ridiculously good-looking. During one lunch, she watched as a gaggle of sixth-year girls surrounded Cedric, begging him to sign their school bags.

She sighed, her lips curling into a rueful smile. She knew she was beautiful, too; she'd been told often enough. But beauty didn't win loyalty, and it certainly didn't protect her from the weight of suspicion and jealousy pressing down on her from all sides.

Hermione noticed her mood one evening as they sat in the common room. "You know," Hermione said gently, "Cedric does look like the perfect champion, but he's not the one who's already defeated a Basilisk or fought Voldemort in his first year."

Dahlia glanced up, surprised by the warmth in Hermione's tone.

"I mean it," Hermione added firmly. "They'll see. When you're standing out there, holding your own against whatever they throw at you... they'll see."

Dahlia smiled faintly, her heart warming slightly at her friend's words. "Thanks, 'Mione."

Hermione grinned. "Now, let's get back to this essay. If McGonagall gives me one more look like she did today, I think I'll spontaneously combust."

For the first time in days, Dahlia felt a flicker of hope.

Dahlia did so badly in Summoning Charms with Professor Flitwick that she was assigned extra homework for the first time in her Hogwarts career. She could hardly believe it—her, struggling in Charms. As she trudged out of class, Hermione tried to reassure her.

"It's really not that difficult, Lia," Hermione said as they descended the staircase. She had spent the lesson effortlessly summoning objects across the room as though she were a magnet for board dusters and lunascopes. "You just weren't concentrating properly—"

"Wonder why that was," Dahlia muttered darkly. She shot a glare at Cedric Diggory, who had just passed by, surrounded by a gaggle of girls. Their simpering laughter grated on her nerves, especially when they glanced her way, their expressions shifting to disdain as though she were a particularly smelly Blast-Ended Skrewt.

"Well, look on the bright side," Hermione said, attempting cheerfulness. "We've got double Potions next."

"Oh, good," Dahlia said sarcastically. "The dungeon—where hopes and dreams go to die."

By the time she and Hermione arrived at Snape's classroom after lunch, the Slytherins were already waiting. Every single one of them wore a large badge on their robes. For a fleeting moment, Dahlia thought they might be S.P.E.W. badges, but then she saw the words blazing in red:

SUPPORT DIGGORY – THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!

Her stomach sank as Daphne Greengrass stepped forward, smirking.

"Like them, Potter?" Daphne said loudly. "Oh, but wait—there's more. Watch this."

She pressed the badge, and the message morphed into luminous green letters:

POTTER STINKS!

The Slytherins roared with laughter. Around the corridor, other students began pressing their badges, until the words POTTER STINKS flashed repeatedly all around Dahlia. Her face burned, the heat crawling down her neck.

"Oh, very original," Hermione said scathingly, glaring at Daphne. "Really shows your creative genius."

Daphne smirked wider. "Want one, Granger?" She held out a badge mockingly. "Don't touch my hand, though—I just washed it. Wouldn't want a Mudblood sliming it up."

It was the final straw. Something inside Dahlia snapped. Before she knew what she was doing, her wand was in her hand, pointed directly at Daphne.

"Lia!" Hermione hissed, alarmed.

"Go on, Potter," Daphne said, her voice low and taunting as she drew her own wand. "Do it. Moody's not here to save you now."

The corridor fell silent. Wands were raised, students scrambled out of the way, and for a single heartbeat, they stared each other down.

"Furnunculus!" Dahlia shouted.

"Densaugeo!" Daphne shrieked at the same time.

Jets of light collided midair, sparking violently before ricocheting. Dahlia's spell hit Millicent Bulstrode square in the face, and Daphne's curse struck Hermione, whose horrified cry filled the corridor as her teeth began growing rapidly.

"Hermione!" Ron darted forward, his face pale with alarm as he tried to pull Hermione's hands away from her mouth.

Meanwhile, Millicent was clutching her face, which was now covered in angry boils.

"What is going on here?" A smooth, cold voice cut through the chaos.

Professor Snape had arrived, his black eyes glittering with malice as he surveyed the scene. The Slytherins began clamoring at once.

"She attacked me first!" Daphne said immediately, pointing at Dahlia. "And look what she did to Bulstrode—"

"And she cursed Hermione!" Ron yelled furiously, dragging Hermione closer to Snape to show him her teeth, which were now growing past her collar.

Snape's gaze flicked briefly to Hermione. "I see no difference," he said coolly.

Hermione let out a whimper, her eyes glistening with tears. She turned on her heel and fled the corridor, her sobs echoing behind her.

"She called Hermione a Mudblood!" Dahlia snapped, her wand trembling in her hand.

Snape raised an eyebrow, entirely unmoved. "Ten points from Gryffindor for lying, Potter. And a week's detention."

Dahlia's chest tightened with fury, but before she could retort, a voice drawled from the back of the crowd.

"Greengrass, do shut up," said Draco Malfoy lazily, his silver-gray eyes cold as he stepped forward.

The corridor grew quieter still.

"Excuse me?" Daphne said, spinning to face him, her expression incredulous.

"You heard me." Malfoy's tone was silky, but his glare was razor-sharp. "You're embarrassing yourself—and Slytherin. Leave Potter alone."

"She's a cheat—" Daphne began, but Blaise Zabini interrupted her, his arms crossed over his chest.

"No, she's not," he said simply. "The Goblet chose her. And last I checked, the Goblet doesn't make mistakes."

Pansy Parkinson folded her arms, looking Daphne up and down. "Honestly, Greengrass, don't you have better things to do? You're making us all look pathetic."

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged glances before Goyle rumbled, "Yeah. Potter's not that bad."

For the first time in weeks, Dahlia felt a flicker of surprise—and gratitude. Daphne, however, looked as though she had swallowed a lemon.

"I—fine!" she snapped, turning on her heel. "But don't expect me to support her when she crashes and burns."

As Daphne stalked away, Draco smirked faintly and turned back to Dahlia.

"Don't read too much into this, Potter," he said smoothly. "I just hate incompetence. And Greengrass? Utterly incompetent."

With that, he swept past her into the dungeon, his platinum hair catching the torchlight as he disappeared into the shadows. Dahlia didn't bother pointing out the hypocrisy in Malfoy's comment—after all, he had spent three years relentlessly antagonizing her and her friends. Yet, she couldn't ignore the flicker of gratitude that stirred within her. It seemed, against all odds, that Malfoy was staying true to his word about the truce.

Dahlia's ears were ringing. The sheer injustice of it all made her clench her fists under the desk, longing to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces. The unfairness cut deep, a sharp reminder of just how little the adults in her life seemed to care about fairness. She brushed past Snape as she headed to the back of the dungeon, her face set like stone. Ron was walking beside her, his jaw tight with fury. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though things were back to normal between them, as though the chasm that had grown since her name had come out of the Goblet of Fire had vanished. But then, just as they reached the table, Ron veered off and dropped into a seat with Dean and Seamus, leaving Dahlia alone. The cold, empty chair beside her was a stark contrast to the camaraderie that once felt so natural.

Dahlia's bag hit the desk with a resounding thud. Across the room, she caught Daphne Greengrass's smirk as the Slytherin girl pressed her badge, flashing POTTER STINKS in bright, mocking letters. Dahlia's fingers itched to snatch her wand, to make the badge flash something far less polite. Instead, she turned her glare toward Snape, who had begun prowling the front of the room. Her vivid imagination supplied grotesque images: Snape slipping in a puddle of his own potion, Snape being hexed until he resembled the slugs he so resembled in spirit. Her hands curled into fists again, her nails digging into her palms.

"If only I knew the Cruciatus Curse," she thought darkly. For a moment, she pictured Snape jerking and writhing on the floor, much like the spider from Moody's lesson. The thought brought a bitter twist of satisfaction.

"Antidotes!" Snape's cold, sharp voice snapped her out of her daydream. He looked around the room, his black eyes glinting like shards of obsidian. "You should all have prepared your recipes by now. I want them brewed carefully. At the end of the lesson, we will select someone to test them."

His gaze landed on Dahlia, and a malicious smile tugged at his lips. Dahlia's stomach dropped. She knew what was coming. Of course, he'd pick her. He always did. Her hand itched to pick up her cauldron, to march to the front of the room, and to bring it down squarely on his greasy, hooked nose.

Before she could act on the fantasy, a knock at the dungeon door jolted the room to attention. Colin Creevey poked his head in, his ever-present grin lighting up his face. He darted to Snape's desk, seemingly unaware of the tension hanging in the air.

"Yes?" Snape's voice was a blade, slicing through Colin's cheerfulness.

"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Dahlia Potter upstairs," Colin said, beaming.

"Potter has another hour of Potions to complete," Snape snapped, his tone ice-cold. "She will leave when this class is finished."

Colin flushed but pressed on nervously. "Sir, Mr. Bagman wants her. All the champions have to go. I think they want to take photographs..."

Dahlia winced. She would have traded anything to stop Colin from saying that last part. She risked a glance at Ron, but he was staring resolutely at the ceiling, his face carefully blank.

"Very well," Snape hissed. "Potter, leave your things here. I want you back later to test your antidote."

"Sir, she has to take her things," Colin added quickly. "All the champions—"

"Very well!" Snape snarled. "Potter, take your bag and get out of my sight!"

Dahlia swung her bag over her shoulder, her anger simmering dangerously close to the surface. As she walked past the Slytherins, the badges on their robes flashed mockingly. POTTER STINKS. The words seemed to taunt her, each flash like a jab to the chest.

"It's amazing, isn't it, Dahlia?" Colin said as soon as the dungeon door swung shut behind them. He was practically skipping beside her. "You being a champion!"

"Yeah," Dahlia said flatly. "Really amazing."

"They want photos for the Daily Prophet, I think!" Colin continued enthusiastically.

"Fantastic," Dahlia muttered, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Exactly what I need. More publicity."

When they reached the designated room, Colin wished her good luck and darted off. Dahlia hesitated for a moment before knocking. Inside, the room had been rearranged, with desks pushed to the back to create an open space. At the front, a long velvet-draped table sat before five chairs. Ludo Bagman bounded up as soon as she entered, his cheerfulness grating against Dahlia's nerves.

"Ah, here she is! Champion number four!" Bagman cried. "In you come, Dahlia, nothing to worry about. It's just the wand weighing ceremony. The rest of the judges will be here soon."

"Wand weighing?" Dahlia echoed, her brow furrowing.

"It's standard procedure!" Bagman said brightly. "We need to ensure your wand is in perfect condition. The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. Afterward, there'll be a little photo shoot. Rita Skeeter here is writing a piece for the Daily Prophet."

"Maybe not that little," Rita Skeeter interjected, her eyes sharp as they locked onto Dahlia. Her magenta robes were almost garish, her hair set in rigid curls that clashed with her severe jawline. She smiled, showing a flash of gold teeth.

"I wonder if I could have a word with Dahlia before we start?" Rita said sweetly, but her grip on Dahlia's arm was firm, like a vice.

"I'd rather not," Dahlia said firmly, pulling her arm free. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't touch me."

"Oh, don't be silly," Rita said, her tone syrupy but with an edge of steel. Before Dahlia could protest further, she found herself being steered out of the room and into a small broom cupboard.

"Cozy, isn't it?" Rita said, lighting candles with a flick of her wand. She perched on an upturned bucket and gestured for Dahlia to sit on a cardboard box. Dahlia crossed her arms instead, glaring.

Rita's crocodile-skin handbag snapped open, and she pulled out a vivid green quill. It twitched in her hand like it was alive. "Now, Dahlia, let's get started..."

"You won't mind, Dahlia, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you properly," Rita Skeeter purred, her voice dripping with artificial charm.

Dahlia's brow furrowed as she crossed her arms. "A what?" she asked, suspicious.

Rita's smile stretched wider, exposing three gold teeth that gleamed in the dim light. "Oh, just a little tool of the trade, dear." Her heavily-ringed fingers dove into her crocodile-skin bag, clinking against bottles of who-knew-what, and finally emerged clutching an obnoxiously long, acid-green quill and a roll of parchment. She stretched the parchment across a crate of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover and positioned the quill on top.

With a flourish, Rita placed the quill's tip into her mouth, sucking on it for a moment as though savoring a rare delicacy. Dahlia cringed. The quill made a faint, unsettling noise, like a snake hissing. Finally, Rita removed it and planted it upright on the parchment. It stood perfectly still for a moment before quivering slightly, as though eager to begin.

"Testing... My name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter," Rita declared, leaning back smugly.

Dahlia's eyes flicked down to the parchment just as the acid-green quill began to scrawl furiously across it. The words formed unnaturally fast, as though the quill were alive: Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations...

Dahlia's lips tightened, and she shot Rita an unimpressed look. "Really?" she muttered under her breath.

"Lovely," Rita said, ignoring the sarcasm as she yanked the parchment free, crumpled it into a ball, and stuffed it into her handbag. The quill, meanwhile, was already poised for its next round. "Now, let's get started, shall we?" she said brightly, leaning forward with the predatory gleam of a hawk spotting its prey. "So, Dahlia... what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Er—" Dahlia began, but her attention was pulled toward the quill, which had already begun scribbling furiously. She could make out the words forming: An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Dahlia Potter, whose startling green eyes—

"Hey!" Dahlia snapped, her irritation flaring. "That's not true, and I'm not disfigured!"

"Ignore the quill, dear," Rita said dismissively, though the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. "Focus on me. Now, why did you decide to enter the tournament?"

"I didn't," Dahlia said sharply. "I don't know how my name got into the Goblet of Fire. I didn't put it in there."

Rita's heavily penciled eyebrows arched in mock disbelief. "Come now, Dahlia. There's no need to be shy. We all know you shouldn't technically have entered, but our readers love a bit of rebellion. It adds spice."

"I didn't enter," Dahlia repeated, her voice rising. "I don't know who—"

"And how do you feel about the tasks ahead?" Rita cut her off smoothly. "Excited? Nervous?"

Dahlia let out an exasperated sigh. "I haven't really thought about it... nervous, I guess."

"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" Rita said, her tone brisk and almost gleeful. "Does that worry you?"

"Well, they say it's going to be safer this year..." Dahlia began, though unease churned in her stomach. The quill darted back and forth across the parchment like a deranged spider.

"Of course, you've looked death in the face before, haven't you?" Rita pressed, her gaze piercing. "How would you say that's affected you?"

"I—uh—" Dahlia stammered, starting to feel cornered.

"Do you think the trauma in your past has made you eager to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Perhaps you entered the tournament because—"

"I didn't enter!" Dahlia nearly shouted, her patience snapping. "Stop twisting my words!"

Rita barely blinked. "Can you remember your parents at all?" she asked abruptly, steamrolling over Dahlia's protest.

"Yes," Dahlia said stiffly. She could, thanks to their journals, but this was hardly the time or place to discuss it.

"How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?" Dahlia was feeling really annoyed now. How on earth was she supposed to know how her parents would feel if they were alive? She clenched her fists under the table, forcing herself not to snap.

Rita's quill darted across the parchment with glee: Tears fill those startling green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents she can barely remember.

"I have NOT got tears in my eyes!" Dahlia said loudly, glaring at Rita.

Before Rita could respond, she leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping just enough to suggest false intimacy. "What about your godfather, Sirius Black? And, of course, his husband—Remus Lupin-Black, isn't it? Former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. How do they feel about all of this?"

Dahlia's emerald eyes narrowed dangerously. "My godfather," she said, her voice clipped, "would be furious about you dragging me into this broom cupboard and writing lies about me."

Rita barely flinched, her quill now scribbling frantically. "Surely, though, he must be proud. A surrogate parent to the Girl Who Lived—supporting you through your trials. Perhaps a touching family moment or two? Readers adore that sort of thing."

"You mean readers adore whatever you invent to sell papers," Dahlia shot back, her frustration boiling over.

The quill paused for a moment, then continued, and Rita's smile tightened. "Oh, I'd never invent, dear. Just... embellish. Tell me, do they worry about you? Surely, with all their history, they must be concerned about what dangers lie ahead—"

Before Dahlia could retort, the door to the broom cupboard swung open, revealing Albus Dumbledore standing in the doorway. His calm, amused expression instantly deflated Rita's enthusiasm as she hastily snapped her crocodile bag shut.

"Ah, Dumbledore!" Rita exclaimed, her tone syrupy but her movements quick as she hastily shoved the quill and parchment back into her bag. "What a delightful surprise! How are you?"

"I trust you're finding this... cupboard comfortable, Rita?" Dumbledore said, his voice mild but laden with meaning.

Rita offered a strained laugh. "Just a little informal chat with young Dahlia here! I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference—"

"Enchantingly nasty," Dumbledore replied, his tone cheerful. "I particularly enjoyed the phrase 'obsolete dingbat.'"

Rita's smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "I was merely expressing the concerns of some wizards in the street, of course."

"I would be delighted to hear your reasoning," Dumbledore said with a polite bow, "but perhaps later. For now, I believe the Weighing of the Wands is about to begin, and it cannot proceed without one of our champions."

Dahlia shot Rita a triumphant look before stepping past her and out of the cramped cupboard. She hurried back to the main room, grateful for the reprieve, and quickly took her seat beside Cedric Diggory. As she settled into her chair, she glanced back to see Rita Skeeter skulking into a corner, her quill already in hand, ready to strike again.

Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman took their places at the judges' table, their expressions ranging from indifferent to eager. Rita Skeeter, with her crocodile-skin handbag perched on her lap, settled herself in a corner. Dahlia noticed the glint of her Quick-Quotes Quill as it slid out of her bag. With a theatrical flourish, Rita sucked the end of the quill, placed it on her knee, and set it to scribble furiously on her parchment. Dahlia's irritation flared, but she forced her attention back to Dumbledore, who was rising to address them.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore warmly, gesturing to the elderly man who stood silently by the window. His silver eyes glimmered in the dim light of the room as he inclined his head toward the group. "He will be inspecting your wands to ensure they are in good condition before the tournament."

Dahlia started, a flicker of recognition crossing her face. Mr. Ollivander—the wandmaker she had met years ago in Diagon Alley. She remembered his strange, soft voice and the way his eerie gaze seemed to peer straight through her back then. He looked unchanged, though perhaps a little more frail.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" Mr. Ollivander said, stepping forward and extending a long-fingered hand.

Fleur Delacour rose gracefully from her seat, her silvery hair shimmering as she swept over to him. She handed over her wand with a small, confident smile.

"Hmmm..." Mr. Ollivander murmured, twirling the wand between his fingers. Pink and gold sparks erupted from the tip like miniature fireworks. He examined it closely, his pale eyes narrowing. "Yes... nine and a half inches... inflexible... rosewood... and containing—ah, I see—"

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a Veela," Fleur supplied, her accent lilting. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

Dahlia blinked, startled. So Fleur was part Veela. She made a mental note to tell Ron—before remembering that Ron wasn't exactly speaking to her at the moment. Her shoulders slumped slightly.

"Ah, yes," Mr. Ollivander continued. "Veela hair makes for powerful wands, though they can be temperamental... but this one seems perfectly suited to you." He ran his fingers along the wand, checking for imperfections, then flicked it sharply. "Orchideous!"

A bouquet of flowers burst from the wand's tip, vivid and fragrant. Mr. Ollivander handed the flowers to Fleur along with her wand. "In fine working order. Mr. Diggory, if you please."

Fleur returned to her seat, flashing a smile at Cedric as he passed her. He smiled back, looking slightly pink.

"Ah, now, this is one of mine," Mr. Ollivander said with obvious pride, holding Cedric's wand. "Yes, yes, I remember it well. Twelve and a quarter inches... ash... pleasantly springy. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn. Nearly gored me with his horn when I plucked it—magnificent creature, seventeen hands high."

Cedric grinned. "Polished it last night," he said, earning an approving nod from Mr. Ollivander.

Dahlia glanced down at her own wand and smiled faintly. She, too, polished her wand regularly. It was a habit she'd picked up from years of cleaning the Dursleys' house under Aunt Petunia's hawk-like watch. Keeping things spotless was second nature to her now, though she suspected Aunt Petunia's obsession with cleanliness had something to do with it.

Mr. Ollivander tested Cedric's wand with a few bursts of golden sparks and a stream of silvery smoke rings. "Excellent," he declared. "Mr. Krum?"

Viktor Krum lumbered forward, his shoulders hunched and his heavy brows drawn low. He thrust his wand at Mr. Ollivander without a word, his hands retreating to the pockets of his robes as soon as the wand left his grip.

"Hmmm," Mr. Ollivander said thoughtfully, turning the wand over. "A Gregorovitch creation, if I'm not mistaken. Hornbeam and dragon heartstring? Ten and a quarter inches... quite rigid. Gregorovitch prefers a thicker design, doesn't he?"

Krum nodded curtly, his scowl deepening as Mr. Ollivander tested the wand. "Avis!" he called, and a flock of tiny birds erupted from the tip, fluttering toward the window. "Yes, yes, very good. It's in excellent condition."

He returned the wand to Krum, who stuffed it into his robes and slouched back to his seat. "Miss Potter?" Mr. Ollivander called.

Dahlia stood, smoothing her robes as she walked toward him. She handed over her wand, and a flicker of recognition lit Mr. Ollivander's pale eyes.

"Aaaah, yes," he said softly, holding the wand as though it were a priceless artifact. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. How well I remember..." His voice grew almost reverent as he turned the wand in his hands.

Dahlia remembered too—her first trip to Diagon Alley, her first encounter with the wizarding world. She could still recall the moment Mr. Ollivander had handed her the wand, how it had felt like a missing piece of her being had suddenly clicked into place.

"Curious," he had said back then. Curious. Dahlia braced herself, hoping he wouldn't mention the phoenix feather's origin. Rita Skeeter's quill was already twitching in anticipation, and Dahlia could imagine the kind of headlines she'd concoct.

Mr. Ollivander examined the wand for much longer than anyone else's, muttering under his breath. Finally, he gave it a sharp flick. A fountain of ruby-red wine shot from the wand's tip, glittering as it arched through the air.

"Perfect," he announced, handing it back to Dahlia with a faint smile. "Still in excellent condition."

Dahlia returned to her seat, her fingers curling protectively around her wand.

Dumbledore stood, his voice cutting through the room. "Thank you all. You may return to your lessons now—or, as dinner is about to begin, you may wish to head straight to the Great Hall."

Just as Dahlia stood to leave, the photographer with the black camera sprang to his feet. "Photos, Dumbledore! Photos!" Ludo Bagman chimed in eagerly, clapping his hands.

Rita Skeeter's eyes gleamed as she pushed forward. "Yes, of course! Group shots, and then some individuals." She smirked at Dahlia, who immediately tensed.

The group photos were a chaotic affair. Madame Maxime towered over everyone, forcing the photographer to reposition constantly. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee into a dramatic curl. Viktor Krum hovered awkwardly at the back, half-hidden behind Cedric. Fleur glided into the front, looking radiant, while Rita made a point of dragging Dahlia forward at every opportunity.

"And now, just a few shots of Miss Potter!" Rita declared, grabbing Dahlia's arm. Dahlia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, gritting her teeth as the flash went off repeatedly.

At last, they were free to go, and Dahlia hurried from the room, relieved to escape the suffocating atmosphere of Rita's quill and camera.

The shock of being named school champion had dulled slightly, replaced by a heavy, gnawing fear. The first task loomed closer with every passing day, a monstrous unknown crouching ahead of Dahlia like a beast waiting to strike. She felt as though her entire existence had funneled into this single moment, and beyond it, there was nothing—no future, no safety, no escape. The nerves clawing at her insides were unlike anything she had ever experienced before, not even before the most intense Quidditch matches. Those seemed trivial now. Even the final match against Slytherin last year, which had decided the Quidditch Cup, had felt like a mild inconvenience compared to this.

Her sleep was restless, haunted by strange, half-formed dreams where fire, shadows, and mocking laughter chased her. And while the terror of the unknown task kept her awake at night, life during the day wasn't any easier. Rita Skeeter's article about the Triwizard Tournament had hit the stands over a week ago, and it was still the talk of the school—though not for the reasons Dahlia had hoped.

The front page of the Daily Prophet had been dominated by an enormous, glamorized photo of Dahlia, her green eyes glinting unnaturally as the magic in the photograph looped her movements. The headline read:

"Dahlia Potter: Tragedy, Triumph, and a Triwizard Champion!"

But the article itself wasn't about the Triwizard Tournament. It was about her. Cedric's name had been squeezed into the final sentence as a half-hearted afterthought, and the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions' names had been misspelled entirely.

Dahlia's stomach churned every time she thought about the words attributed to her, words she had never said and would never have said.

"I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be very proud of me if they could see me now. Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they're watching over me."

The lies made her want to throw up. But it wasn't just the fabricated quotes that made her skin crawl. Skeeter had gone even further, digging into her personal life and weaving outrageous speculations that had set the entire school whispering.

"Dahlia Potter at last finds love at Hogwarts," the article proclaimed.

It went on to recount the supposed love triangle between Dahlia, Theo, and Daphne Greengrass, complete with insinuations about betrayal and heartbreak. But Skeeter hadn't stopped there. She'd turned her focus to Hermione, describing her as "a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Dahlia, is among the school's top students." The article concluded with a salacious question:

"Will she follow in the footsteps of her godfather and enter a homosexual relationship?"

The outrage Dahlia felt was nothing compared to Hermione's fury. She had nearly hexed a hole through her copy of the newspaper.

"This is absolute filth!" Hermione had raged, pacing the common room with the article clenched in her fists. "How does she get away with this?!"

"By selling papers," Dahlia muttered, slumped in an armchair and wishing she could disappear under her Invisibility Cloak forever.

Unfortunately, the students of Hogwarts seemed to find the article endlessly entertaining. The Slytherins, in particular, took every opportunity to mock her. Thankfully, they hadn't said anything about Theo—because if they had, she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep her anger, sadness, and frustration in check.

"Want a tissue, Potter?" Greengrass sneered one afternoon as she passed her in the corridor. "Wouldn't want you bursting into tears in Transfiguration!"

Dahlia clenched her fists, her patience wearing dangerously thin.

"Hey, Dahlia!" a voice called as she passed through the corridor. "Still crying over your dead parents?"

She stopped dead, her temper flaring white-hot. Spinning around, she snapped, "Yeah, that's right! I've just been crying my eyes out over my dead mum, and I'm just off to do a bit more! Anything else, or are we done here?"

The group of Slytherins gaped, but it wasn't one of them who stepped forward—it was Theo.

"You, uh..." His tone was soft, almost unsure. "You dropped your quill."

Dahlia froze, her cheeks heating as he held out the quill she hadn't even realized she'd dropped.

"Oh," she muttered, taking it from him. "Right. Thanks."

Theo's lips curved into a small, genuine smile, his sharp features softening. "Good luck on Tuesday, Cara. I hope you do well and take care of yourself"

Her stomach flipped at the familiar nickname. She had no time to berate him—or herself—for it, as he turned and walked away. She stood frozen for a moment, feeling both foolish and strangely warm, until Hermione arrived to drag her back to the library.

The looming first task made it impossible to focus on anything else. Every ticking clock seemed louder, every whisper sharper, and the weight of everyone's expectations bore down on her like a crushing tide. Even so, the moments of reprieve, like Theo's unexpected kindness, stayed with her longer than she'd admit.

But when she returned to her dormitory that night, collapsing onto her bed, her thoughts drifted back to the task ahead. What horrors awaited her on Tuesday? Would she even survive it? The beast of her imagination snarled and snapped in the shadows of her mind, but for now, all she could do was wait.

The tension between Dahlia and Ron continued to hang heavily in the air, even as Hermione did her best to keep spirits high. Hermione had endured her own share of mockery since Rita Skeeter's article, but she was managing it with an admirable resilience that only made Dahlia appreciate her more.

"Stunningly pretty? Her?" Daphne had shrieked in disbelief the first time she saw Hermione after the article was published. "What was the competition? A troll?"

Hermione had simply lifted her chin and strode past the group of sneering Slytherins as if they were invisible. "Ignore it," she said to Dahlia, her voice composed and steady. "Just ignore it, Lia."

But ignoring it wasn't something Dahlia was very good at. Ron's continued silence only deepened her frustration. She had hoped that Snape's miserable detentions—pickling rats' brains in the dungeon—might provide an opportunity to mend things, but instead, the appearance of Rita's article that same day had only solidified Ron's conviction that Dahlia enjoyed all the attention.

"I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire," Dahlia had told Hermione for what felt like the hundredth time. "And I'm not apologizing to Ron for something I didn't do!"

Hermione, however, was relentless. "You miss him," she pointed out sharply. "And he misses you! Honestly, Lia, this is ridiculous."

"I don't miss him!" Dahlia snapped, but the words were hollow. She missed Ron terribly—his jokes, his loud laughter, the way he always tried to protect her even when she didn't need it. Hermione, though, was her unwavering support. If Ron was like a chaotic older brother, Hermione was the stern yet caring older sister who never let her slack off. Dahlia felt off-balance without both of them by her side.

With the first task looming, the days flew by at a pace that left Dahlia constantly on edge. The summoning charm, which she had struggled with for weeks, had finally clicked under Hermione's patient guidance, but her nerves didn't subside. The library became their haven, with lunch breaks spent poring over every book that seemed even remotely helpful.

Krum, as usual, was there too, his hunched figure hovering over a stack of books. Hermione glared at him from time to time, annoyed not so much by his presence as by the gaggle of giggling girls that inevitably followed him.

"They're only here because he's famous," Hermione grumbled one afternoon, scowling at Krum's profile. "Honestly, he's not even that good-looking."

"Wronski Feint," Dahlia muttered absently, staring at her parchment but not really seeing it. The thought of Quidditch brought an ache to her chest as she imagined how Ron would have reacted to Hermione calling it a "Wonky-Faint."

Saturday's Hogsmeade trip was a much-needed break from the suffocating tension of the castle. Hermione, determined to drag Dahlia out of her funk, insisted they go.

"You need fresh air," she declared. "And chocolate. Lots of chocolate."

"What about Ron?" Dahlia asked skeptically.

Hermione flushed slightly. "I thought we might run into him at the Three Broomsticks. . . ."

"No." Dahlia's tone was flat.

"Oh, Lia, this is so stupid!" Hermione snapped.

"Fine. I'll come. But I'm wearing my Invisibility Cloak."

Hogsmeade was bustling with students, most of whom wore "Support Cedric Diggory!" badges. For once, Dahlia could move about freely, hidden beneath the cloak, without enduring pointed fingers or cruel whispers.

"People think I'm talking to myself," Hermione grumbled as they walked out of Honeydukes, chocolates in hand.

"Then don't move your lips so much," Dahlia retorted.

Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't press the issue further. Instead, she tugged Dahlia toward the Three Broomsticks, muttering about the cold. The pub was as crowded as ever, filled with Hogwarts students, witches, wizards, and a sprinkling of more unusual magical folk.

As Hermione went to fetch butterbeer, Dahlia spotted Ron sitting with Fred, George, and Lee Jordan. She bit back the urge to jab him in the back of the head with her wand. He looked cheerful, laughing at something Fred had said. It was infuriating.

Hermione returned with two steaming mugs, sliding one under the cloak. "Here," she said, her tone brusque. "And honestly, Lia, you should just go talk to him. This is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" Dahlia muttered as she sipped her butterbeer. "You're trying to recruit villagers to your elf-rights group. That's ridiculous."

"When house-elves are treated with the respect they deserve, you'll thank me," Hermione hissed, her eyes flashing.

The warmth of the Three Broomsticks and the chatter of its patrons was comforting in a way Dahlia hadn't anticipated. She watched familiar faces laughing, swapping Chocolate Frog cards, and enjoying their free time. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what life would be like if her name hadn't come out of the Goblet of Fire. She wouldn't be hiding under an Invisibility Cloak, and Ron would be sitting beside her, cracking jokes.

"Look," Hermione said suddenly, pointing across the room. Hagrid's unmistakable bulk towered over the crowd as he leaned in close to speak with Professor Moody. The sight of the two of them together made Dahlia's stomach churn uneasily.

"Do you think they're talking about the first task?" she asked.

Hermione's expression turned thoughtful. "Probably. Hagrid wouldn't give you a hint about it, would he?"

Dahlia shook her head. "I doubt it. He hasn't said a word about it. Besides, Moody would know if he did."

Hermione sighed and took another sip of her butterbeer. "Well, whatever it is, we'll figure it out. We always do."

As Dahlia watched Hagrid and Moody rise to leave, she waved instinctively before realizing Hagrid couldn't see her. Moody, however, paused, his magical eye swiveling toward her hidden corner. He tapped Hagrid on the back and muttered something. They both began making their way toward the table she shared with Hermione.

"All right, Hermione?" Hagrid greeted loudly, his booming voice carrying across the pub.

"Hello, Hagrid," Hermione replied warmly, smiling up at him.

Moody circled the table, leaning down as though examining Hermione's S.P.E.W. notebook. Instead, he muttered under his breath, "Nice cloak, Potter."

Dahlia blinked in astonishment. How had he—? Moody's heavily scarred face was unsettling at such close range, the gouged-out chunk of his nose especially prominent.

"Can your eye— I mean, can you really see—?" Dahlia began, but Moody cut her off with a low chuckle.

"Yeah, it can see through Invisibility Cloaks," he said quietly. "Comes in handy, believe me."

Hagrid was grinning down at her too, though he couldn't actually see her. Moody must've filled him in, because Hagrid bent low, pretending to look at Hermione's notebook. "Lia," he whispered so softly only she could hear, "meet me at midnight, me cabin. Bring yer cloak."

Straightening, Hagrid said loudly, "Nice ter see yeh, Hermione," with a wink before heading off with Moody.

Dahlia stared after them, her curiosity piqued. "Why does Hagrid want me to meet him at midnight?" she asked Hermione.

"Does he?" Hermione frowned, clearly startled. "I wonder what that's about?"

Dahlia shrugged, baffled. Hagrid had never summoned her so late. Whatever it was, it had to be important.

At half-past eleven, Dahlia slipped on the Invisibility Cloak, having pretended to go to bed early. Down in the common room, the Creevey brothers were struggling with enchanted badges.

"Support Dahlia Potter!" one badge sputtered, though most still flickered between "Support Cedric Diggory!" and "Potter Stinks." Dahlia rolled her eyes, slipping past unnoticed until she reached the portrait hole.

Hermione was waiting as planned, opening the Fat Lady from the outside.

"Thanks," Dahlia whispered as she crept out.

The castle grounds were dark, the cold night air sharp against her skin. She walked quickly toward the warm lights glowing from Hagrid's cabin, the sound of Madame Maxime's voice drifting faintly from her carriage.

"You there, Lia?" Hagrid's familiar voice whispered as he opened the door, his large frame silhouetted against the firelight.

"Yeah," Dahlia said, stepping inside and pulling the cloak from her head. "What's going on?"

"Got somethin' ter show yeh," Hagrid said, brimming with excitement. He had a flower resembling an artichoke pinned to his jacket, and his hair was combed—though several broken comb teeth were still stuck in the wiry mess.

"Is this another Skrewt disaster? Or—please tell me you didn't get another Cerberus," Dahlia said warily.

"Just trust me, and keep that cloak on," Hagrid said, ushering her out the door. "Fang's stayin' back—he'd hate this."

Dahlia barely had time to throw the cloak over herself again before Hagrid led her to the Beauxbatons carriage.

"Hagrid, why are we—"

"Shhh!" he hissed, rapping three times on the golden door.

Madame Maxime answered, draped in an elegant silk shawl. She smiled warmly at Hagrid.

"Ah, 'Agrid, eez it time?"

"Bonsoir," Hagrid beamed, offering his arm to help her down the steps.

Dahlia, hidden under her cloak, groaned aloud. "What the hell is this?" she muttered to herself, already regretting the decision to come.

Maxime accepted Hagrid's arm, and the pair strolled past the paddock of her enormous winged horses. Dahlia trailed behind, confused and increasingly annoyed.

"Where are we going, 'Agrid?" Maxime asked playfully, fluttering her long lashes.

"You'll see, it's worth it. But—don' go tellin' anyone, all right?"

Dahlia rolled her eyes at the shameless flirting. "Ew," she muttered under her breath.

Just as she was about to give up and head back to the castle, a distant roar split the night. Men shouted up ahead, followed by a deafening blast of flame.

Her irritation vanished as they crested a rise, revealing a massive enclosure lit by roaring fires. Inside, four enormous dragons reared, their wings beating and flames shooting into the air.

Dahlia's jaw dropped. "Dragons," she whispered.

She moved closer, her eyes locking on the black dragon nearest them. Its golden eyes glowed with rage—or perhaps terror—and it let out a screeching roar. To her shock, she understood its meaning.

"My little one! Where is my little one?"

The realization hit her like a thunderbolt. Of course—dragons were kin to snakes. Parseltongue worked on them too.

"Wan' a closer look?" Hagrid asked Maxime, who nodded eagerly.

Still hidden, Dahlia stayed back, processing the dragon's anguished cries as the wizards stunned it into submission. She'd come expecting one of Hagrid's harebrained schemes, but this was far, far bigger.

Dahlia's pulse raced as she watched the dragons, each one massive and powerful, their raw strength impossible to ignore. 

The dragon's voice echoed in her mind. "Thieves... my youngling... stolen..."

Dahlia's heart clenched. She hadn't expected this. Dragons were dangerous, yes, but they weren't mindless beasts. This one's fury was laced with pain, the anguish of a mother.

"Charlie!" Hagrid called out, waving at a figure moving toward them.

Dahlia quickly recognized him: Charlie Weasley, his face flushed from the exertion of working with the dragons, his hair disheveled as always.

"All right, Hagrid?" Charlie panted as he approached, wiping his brow with a grimy sleeve. "They should be all right now—gave them a Sleeping Draught on the way here, but they didn't take kindly to it. They were restless. As you saw, the Horntail wasn't happy at all."

Hagrid nodded in approval. "Isn't she beautiful?" His eyes were fixed on the black dragon, which had finally calmed down, its body sagging with exhaustion.

Dahlia watched Charlie's eyes flicker toward the dragon. "She's a Hungarian Horntail. They're pretty feisty, but not as bad as they look." He grinned at Hagrid's awed expression. "The smaller one's a Welsh Green, over there. The blue-gray one is a Swedish Short-Snout, and that red one—well, that's a Chinese Fireball. They've all got their own personalities, but right now, they're all about as mad as a bag of toads."

Dahlia couldn't stop staring at the dragons. The sight of their scale-covered bodies, the flames bursting from their open mouths, their eyes flashing with both fear and fury—there was something undeniably magnificent about them. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to their anger than just the restraints placed on them by their keepers.

"I didn't know you were bringing her, Hagrid," Charlie said, frowning and crossing his arms. "The champions aren't supposed to know what's coming—she's bound to tell her student, isn't she?"

"Jus' thought she'd like ter see 'em," Hagrid replied with a shrug, still gazing, enraptured, at the dragons towering over the enclosure.

"Really romantic date, Hagrid," said Charlie with a shake of his head, his tone caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "Four dragons. . . . So it's one fer each o' the champions, is it? What've they gotta do—fight 'em?"

"Just get past them, I think," said Charlie, glancing warily at the Hungarian Horntail. "We'll be on hand if it gets nasty, Extinguishing Spells at the ready. They wanted nesting mothers for some reason, and let me tell you, they're ten times more protective when their eggs are involved. I don't envy the one who gets the Horntail. Nasty thing. Its back end's as dangerous as its front—look."

Charlie pointed toward the Horntail's tail, its bronze-colored spikes glinting ominously in the torchlight. Dahlia, concealed under the Invisibility Cloak, stared, feeling the weight of dread settle heavier on her chest. She barely noticed five dragon keepers staggering toward the Horntail, carrying a clutch of massive granite-gray eggs in a blanket. They carefully set them down near the dragon, who hissed possessively and curled her massive tail closer.

Hagrid let out a moan of longing. "Ain't they jus' beautiful?"

"I've got them counted, Hagrid," Charlie said firmly, catching Hagrid's gaze before he could inch closer to the fence. He turned back to the dragons. "How's Lia doing?"

"Fine," Hagrid mumbled, though his attention was entirely on the clutch of eggs.

Charlie's expression darkened. "Just hope she's still fine after she's faced this lot," he muttered grimly. "I didn't dare tell Mum what she's up against. She's already in bits over that Daily Prophet rubbish. 'She still cries about her parents!'" Charlie mimicked his mother's voice with a dramatic hand to his chest. "'Oh, bless her, she's too young! I thought they were safe!'"

Dahlia couldn't listen anymore. The weight of the first task—and the mounting fear—threatened to suffocate her. Trusting Hagrid wouldn't notice her absence, she turned silently and began the trek back to the castle. Her heart thudded with every step. She knew what she was up against now. Perhaps it was better this way—getting the shock out early—but it didn't make the task ahead seem any less impossible.

As she neared the edge of the forest, she collided hard with someone in the dark. The impact sent her stumbling backward, her glasses askew, clutching at the cloak to ensure it stayed in place.

"Ouch! Who's there?"

Dahlia froze, heart pounding, as she recognized the sharp tone and the distinctive silhouette of Igor Karkaroff.

"Who's there?" Karkaroff repeated, his voice full of suspicion as he glanced around. Dahlia held her breath, staying as still as possible. After a moment, he seemed to decide it was an animal and muttered to himself, moving on.

As soon as he was out of sight, Dahlia bolted, her mind racing. He had clearly been spying on the dragons, just like Madame Maxime. That meant Cedric was the only one who wouldn't know what was coming. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth as she hurried back to the castle.

When Dahlia finally reached the Gryffindor common room, it was deserted. She threw herself into an armchair near the fire, pulling out her two-way mirror. "Sirius Black," she whispered, waiting impatiently until her godfather's face appeared, groggy and clearly just woken up.

"Lia," Sirius said with a sleepy grin. "It's nearly one in the morning. What's going on?"

"Sorry for waking you," Dahlia muttered. "I needed to talk."

"Always, Prongslet." Sirius rubbed his face. "What's wrong?"

"Dragons," Dahlia said, her voice heavy with frustration.

"Drag—wha—" Sirius muttered, still groggy.

"The first task is dragons," she repeated, leaning closer to the mirror. "I don't know what to do."

Sirius blinked, fully awake now. "Well, that's... not ideal," he admitted, rubbing his face. "They really threw you into the deep end, didn't they?"

"You could try the Conjunctivitis Curse," Remus's voice chimed in, his face appearing beside Sirius in the mirror. He looked more alert, his expression calm and thoughtful.

Dahlia sighed. "Thanks, Uncle Moony. I'll keep it in mind. But... isn't there something a little more, I don't know, clever? With more class?"

Remus chuckled softly. "Of course. Just like your father and Sirius—style over practicality."

"Hey!" Sirius protested, smirking. "There's nothing wrong with a bit of flair. If she's going to face down a dragon, she might as well make it look good."

Dahlia shrugged. "Exactly. If I'm going to compete in this tournament, I have to do it in style."

She hesitated for a moment, then added, "Actually... I just remembered. I can understand dragons."

Sirius's eyebrows shot up. "Well, that's new."

"It's because I'm a descendant of Salazar Slytherin," Dahlia explained. "Dragons and snakes—same family, right?"

"That's definitely an advantage," Sirius said, grinning. "You've got Salazar's gift for Parseltongue and James's dramatic streak. The dragon won't know what hit it."

Remus nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "Talking to the dragon could work in your favor—if you can convince it you're not a threat, maybe even work out what it wants."

Dahlia's mind was racing now, the beginnings of a plan forming. "Actually... I have an idea," she said slowly, a glimmer of determination in her eyes.

"Care to share with your old godfather and uncle?" Sirius asked, leaning closer to the mirror.

"Not yet," Dahlia said, smirking. "You'll have to wait and see like everyone else."

Sirius groaned. "Keeping secrets from us? Where's the trust, Prongslet?"

"Still there," Dahlia replied with a laugh. "But you and Uncle Moony have work on Tuesday, right?"

Remus nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. But we know you'll kill it. You've got this, Lia."

"Thanks," Dahlia said, her voice softening. "I'll do my best."

"We'll be rooting for you," Sirius added, his smile warm and reassuring. "Now go get some sleep—or at least try to. You'll need your strength."

The mirror went dark, and Dahlia was left staring at her reflection, her resolve hardening. She had a plan now—and for the first time that night, she felt ready to face what was coming.

It was Ron. Dressed in his maroon paisley pajamas, Ron stopped dead facing Dahlia across the room and looked around.

'Who were you talking to?' he said.

'What's that got to do with you?' Dahlia snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. 'What are you doing down here at this time of night?'

'I just wondered where you—' Ron broke off, shrugging. 'Nothing. I'm going back to bed.'

'Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you?' Dahlia shouted, the frustration from the evening bubbling over. She knew Ron had no idea what she'd walked in on, but she didn't care — at this moment, she hated everything about him, right down to the several inches of bare ankle showing beneath his pajama trousers.

'Sorry about that,' said Ron, his face reddening with anger. 'Should've realized you didn't want to be disturbed. I'll let you get on with practicing for your next interview in peace.'

Dahlia's temper snapped. She seized one of the POTTER REALLY STINKS badges off the table and threw it as hard as she could. It struck Ron on the forehead and bounced off with a small clink.

'There you go,' she said coldly. 'Something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky... That's what you want, isn't it?'

Ron's face twisted in anger, but he didn't move. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them heavy in the dimly lit common room.

Finally, Dahlia's shoulders sagged, and her voice softened, though the edge of frustration remained. 'You know, Ron... I get it. I do. You've spent your whole life feeling like you're stuck in the background of your brothers, and now you've got me as your so-called best friend—or whatever we are at this point.'

Ron flinched but stayed silent.

'You don't have to compete with them,' Dahlia went on, her voice quieter now. 'Not with Fred and George, not with the rest of your brothers, not even with me. You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Ron. Hermione and I—we love you for who you are. You're brilliant, and you don't even see it. But I get that it's not that easy.'

Ron looked away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight.

'Just... when you're ready to stop being a prat,' Dahlia added, her tone softening even further, 'know that Hermione and I will always be here for you.'

Without waiting for a response, she turned and made her way toward the stairs. For a moment, she hesitated at the bottom step, half-hoping Ron would say something, anything, to break the silence.

But he didn't.

Dahlia sighed and climbed the stairs, leaving Ron standing alone in the common room, the badge still on the floor at his feet.

Chapter Text

Dahlia woke up on Sunday feeling as though she hadn't slept at all. Her mind was a tangled mess of dragons, spells, and nerves. She dressed so inattentively that it was a full two minutes before she realized she was trying to pull her hat onto her foot instead of her sock.

"For Merlin's sake," she muttered, yanking the hat off and tossing it across the room.

When she'd finally managed to get her clothes on the correct parts of her body, Dahlia bolted out of the dormitory and hurried downstairs to find Hermione. She spotted her at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, eating breakfast with Ginny.

"Morning, Dahlia," Ginny greeted cheerfully, though her expression faltered at Dahlia's pale, distracted face.

"Hi," Dahlia mumbled, glancing at the food on the table but feeling too queasy to even think about eating. Instead, she hovered impatiently until Hermione had swallowed her last spoonful of porridge.

"Can we talk?" Dahlia asked, tugging Hermione's sleeve.

"Of course," Hermione said at once, her brows furrowing in concern.

Dahlia led her out onto the grounds, where the crisp morning air did little to calm her nerves. She took a deep breath and blurted it out:

"Dragons. The first task is dragons."

Hermione froze, her eyes widening. "Dragons?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

Dahlia nodded miserably.

Hermione stared at her, visibly trying to process the information. "How—how do you know?"

"Hagrid showed them to me last night," Dahlia explained, her words tumbling out in a rush. "There's a Hungarian Horntail, Hermione. Charlie said its tail is as deadly as its fire. And—and the others are just as dangerous."

Hermione pressed a hand to her forehead, looking as though she might faint. "Dragons," she said again, as if saying it aloud would make it sound less insane. It didn't. "Oh, Dahlia, this is awful. Let's just try and keep you alive until Tuesday evening, all right?"

"That's what I'm trying to do," Dahlia said, managing a weak laugh. She then told Hermione about the spell Remus had suggested.

"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed, her face lighting up. "The Conjunctivitis Curse! It attacks the eyes—brilliant! Oh, Dahlia, that's perfect—"

"—as a backup," Dahlia interrupted, her tone firm.

Hermione's excitement faltered. "What do you mean, backup? Dahlia, this isn't a game—"

"I know it's not a game," Dahlia said sharply, then softened. "But Hermione... I don't just want to survive this. If I'm going to compete, I want to do it my way." She paused, watching Hermione's worried expression. "I can understand dragons, Hermione. It's not just Parseltongue—I can communicate with them. I think I can reason with it, maybe even negotiate."

Hermione looked horrified. "Negotiate? Dahlia, this isn't some classroom debate—it's a fire-breathing dragon! What if it doesn't want to listen? What if—what if it just eats you?"

"It won't," Dahlia said, more confidently than she felt. "That's why I need your help. I need to plan it out properly."

Hermione stared at her, and for a moment Dahlia thought she was going to argue. But then Hermione sighed and nodded. "All right," she said reluctantly. "If this is what you're determined to do, then we'd better get started."

Together, they made their way to the library and began combing through books on magical creatures, dragon behavior, and protective charms. Dahlia's determination grew as she worked, though she could tell Hermione still wasn't entirely convinced.

"Oh no, he's back again," Hermione muttered suddenly, glaring toward the library door.

Dahlia glanced up and saw Viktor Krum slouching in, his expression as brooding as ever. He cast a surly look in their direction before settling in a distant corner with a pile of books.

"Why can't he read on his stupid ship?" Hermione said irritably.

Dahlia smirked. "He's not that bad."

Hermione shot her a look. "Come on, Lia, we'll go back to the common room. His fan club'll be here any second, and I've no intention of being trampled."

As if on cue, a gang of girls tiptoed into the library, giggling and whispering behind their hands. One of them was wearing a Bulgaria scarf tied around her waist like a sash.

Dahlia stifled a laugh as they slipped past. "You were saying?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and stood up, gathering her notes. "Let's go."

They left the library together, the sound of muffled giggles trailing behind them.

Dahlia barely slept that night. Even with a plan in mind, her nerves refused to settle. What if the plan failed? What if the dragon decided to roast her alive? The thought of becoming a human barbecue swirled in her mind, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw the gleaming scales and blazing eyes of the Hungarian Horntail.

When she finally rose on Monday morning, she felt as though she hadn't slept at all. For the first time ever, she seriously considered just running away from Hogwarts. The idea tugged at her as she got ready for the day, a whisper of temptation in the back of her mind.

But as she entered the Great Hall for breakfast and glanced around at the familiar faces of her friends and classmates, the thought faded. Leaving the castle would mean giving up the only place that had ever truly felt like home—besides Havre de Paix with Sirius and Remus. She supposed she must have been happy with her parents too, but those memories were like faded photographs, distant and unreachable. Compared to the stifling walls of Privet Drive and Dudley's endless taunts, Hogwarts was paradise.

Somehow, that realization steadied her. She sat at the Gryffindor table and forced herself to eat, though her throat felt tight and dry. Each bite of bacon was a struggle, but she managed to finish it.

As she got up with Hermione, she noticed Cedric Diggory leaving the Hufflepuff table, his cheerful demeanor betraying no hint of the terror he'd soon face. Cedric still didn't know about the dragons. If Dahlia was right, he was the only champion left in the dark—surely Maxime and Karkaroff had warned Fleur and Krum by now.

"Hermione," Dahlia said, a decision forming in her mind as she watched Cedric leave, "I'll see you in the greenhouses."

"What? Lia, you'll be late. The bell's about to ring," Hermione said, glancing at her watch.

"I'll catch you up, okay?" Dahlia replied, already heading for the door.

By the time she reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Cedric was at the top, walking with a group of his sixth-year friends. Dahlia hesitated. Talking to him in front of them would be awkward—especially since they were among the loudest voices mocking her about Rita Skeeter's article.

She hung back, waiting until they were out of earshot. As Cedric and his friends turned toward the Charms corridor, Dahlia pulled out her wand and muttered, "Diffindo."

Cedric's bag split open, and parchment, quills, and books spilled onto the floor. A few bottles of ink smashed, sending black rivulets cascading across the flagstones.

"Don't bother," Cedric said, exasperated, as his friends bent to help. "Tell Flitwick I'll be there in a minute—go on."

Dahlia's heart thudded in relief. This was her chance. She waited until Cedric's friends disappeared into the classroom, then hurried up the corridor, where Cedric knelt, gathering his scattered belongings.

"Hi," Cedric said, glancing up as he wiped ink off a battered copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration. "My bag just split—brand new, too."

"Cedric," Dahlia said quickly, her voice low but urgent. "The first task is dragons."

Cedric froze, blinking at her. "What?"

"Dragons," she repeated, speaking fast in case Professor Flitwick emerged to check on him. "They've got four—one for each of us. We've got to get past them."

For a moment, Cedric just stared, his gray eyes wide with disbelief. Then a flicker of panic crossed his face, mirroring what Dahlia had felt since Saturday night. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hushed.

"Dead sure," Dahlia said firmly. "I've seen them."

"But how did you find out? We're not supposed to know—"

"Doesn't matter," Dahlia cut in, unwilling to throw Hagrid under the bus. "What matters is that I'm not the only one who knows. Fleur and Krum will know by now. Maxime and Karkaroff saw the dragons too."

Cedric straightened, his arms full of inky parchment and broken quills. His expression shifted to something puzzled, almost suspicious. "Why are you telling me?"

Dahlia gaped at him. Was he serious? She wouldn't have let her worst enemy face a dragon unprepared—well, maybe Snape. Or Dumbledore on a particularly bad day. "It's just... fair, isn't it?" she said. "Now we're all on even footing."

Cedric hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Thanks, Dahlia. I mean it."

"No problem," Dahlia said, stepping back. "I've got to go—I'm already late. Sorry about your bag. I'll ask Sirius to send you a replacement."

"Don't worry about it," Cedric said, shaking his head with a small smile.

As Dahlia turned to leave, she heard a familiar clunking noise behind her. She turned and saw Mad-Eye Moody emerging from a nearby classroom, his magical eye swiveling in her direction.

"Potter," Moody growled, "come with me. Diggory, off you go."

Dahlia swallowed hard, wondering how much he'd overheard.

"Er—Professor, I'm supposed to be in Herbology—"

"Never mind that. My office. Now."

With a sinking feeling, Dahlia followed Moody down the corridor, her mind racing. What if he knew about Hagrid? Would he tell Dumbledore? Would she get Hagrid in trouble? Or worse—would Moody turn her into a ferret?

Then again, she thought dully, if she were a ferret, she might be small enough to escape the dragon unnoticed.

Once inside Moody's office, he closed the door and turned to face her, his magical eye fixed on her alongside his normal one.

"That was a very decent thing you just did, Potter," he said quietly.

Dahlia blinked, startled. That wasn't the reaction she'd expected.

"Sit down," Moody said, gesturing to a chair. She hesitated but obeyed, glancing around his office. It was packed with strange objects: a cracked Sneakoscope, a humming Secrecy Sensor, and what looked like a magical mirror filled with shifting, shadowy figures.

"So," Moody said, leaning back in his chair, "found out about the dragons, have you?"

Dahlia tensed but kept her face neutral. "It was... an accident."

Moody's lips twisted into a wry grin. "Relax, Potter. Cheating's part of the Triwizard tradition. Always has been. Dumbledore might preach fairness, but you can bet Karkaroff and Maxime aren't playing by the rules."

Dahlia frowned. "I didn't cheat. I just—found out. That's all."

"Doesn't matter," Moody said, his magical eye swiveling toward his desk. "The important thing is—do you have a plan?"

"Yes," Dahlia said, sitting up straighter. "I have a plan. I just hope it works."

Moody grunted, nodding. "Good. Play to your strengths, and you'll be fine. Now off you go—don't want you missing Herbology entirely."

Relieved but still uneasy, Dahlia hurried out of the office, her thoughts already returning to dragons.

Dahlia had been practicing the Conjunctivitis Curse and the Summoning Charm with a ferocity that bordered on obsession. Whether with her wand or attempting wandless casting, she drilled the spells into the late hours of the night, muttering under her breath and sending sparks flying from her fingertips. The paranoia over whether the Summoning Charm would work gnawed at her—despite knowing it backwards and forwards. Yet, the blind panic that had been her constant companion seemed to dull slightly under the repetitive focus of practice.

By the next morning, however, that fragile calm shattered like glass. The castle was abuzz with tension and excitement. Lessons were suspended at midday so students could gather at the dragon enclosure. Most didn't know what they'd find there, but the murmur of guesses and rumors was deafening.

Dahlia felt alienated from everyone, like she was wading through a misty dream where people's words passed through her but didn't stick. Some students wished her luck with the sincerity of an overcaffeinated cheerleader, while others hissed snide comments like, "We'll save you a spot in the infirmary, Potter!" Dahlia rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck in the back of her head.

If I lose my head out there, I swear I'll just curse everyone in sight and be done with it, she thought grimly. Time distorted as the morning flew by. One moment she was in History of Magic, and the next, she was at lunch. Then—far too soon—it was midday, and Professor McGonagall was hurrying toward her across the Great Hall.

"Potter," McGonagall said, her tone clipped but her anxiety clear, "the champions must head down to the grounds now. It's time to prepare for the first task."

Dahlia's fork clattered onto her plate. She stood, feeling like her legs might give out. Hermione leaned over and whispered urgently, "You'll be fine, Lia. Just stay calm!"

"Oh sure," Dahlia muttered, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "As long as I don't end up as dragon flambé."

"Miss Potter!" McGonagall snapped, clearly hearing her despite the muttered tone. Dahlia froze for a second before giving Hermione a weak smile and following McGonagall out of the hall.

As they descended the stone steps into the cold November air, McGonagall placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Keep a clear head," she said, her voice unusually gentle. "Wizards are stationed to intervene if necessary, but your safety depends on focus. No one will think any less of you—just do your best."

"Yes," Dahlia replied automatically, though her tone betrayed her nerves. She couldn't help noticing that McGonagall's grip was trembling slightly.

When they reached the tent that shielded the dragons from view, McGonagall gestured to the entrance. "Inside with the other champions. Mr. Bagman will explain the procedure. Good luck, Potter."

Dahlia hesitated for half a beat before giving McGonagall a quick nod. "Thanks," she said, her voice flat, and pushed through the tent flaps.

The sight inside wasn't particularly encouraging. Fleur Delacour was perched on a low stool, her usual poise replaced by a ghostly pallor. Viktor Krum was slouched in a corner, glowering at the ground like it had personally insulted him. Cedric Diggory paced back and forth, wearing an expression that screamed I regret my life choices.

Dahlia gave Cedric a strained smile when he looked up. He returned it weakly before resuming his pacing. Dahlia muttered under her breath, "Oh yeah, everyone looks super confident. Definitely feeling inspired."

"Dahlia! Good-o!" Bagman's booming voice interrupted her thoughts as he bustled into the tent, looking cartoonishly cheery in his old Wasp robes. "Right, let's get started, shall we? Here's the deal—you'll each draw a model of the dragon you'll face from this bag." He held up a purple silk pouch. "Your task is simple: retrieve the golden egg they're guarding. Understand?"

Dahlia's sharp gaze flicked toward the bag, a dozen sarcastic retorts swirling in her head, but she bit her tongue.

"Ladies first!" Bagman declared, offering the bag to Fleur.

As Bagman offered the purple silk bag to Fleur, the tent felt charged with nervous energy. Dahlia watched as Fleur's pale hand dipped into the sack and pulled out a tiny Welsh Green dragon. Its delicate wings flapped once before it stilled in her palm, the number two hanging from its neck. Fleur took a deep breath, her face taut with determination but tinged with resignation. Of course, Dahlia thought bitterly, Madame Maxime must have warned her about this.

Bagman beamed, oblivious to Fleur's nerves. "Lovely! Excellent choice, Miss Delacour! Now then, Krum—your turn!"

Dahlia's eyebrows shot up. "Uh, excuse me?" she said, her sharp tone slicing through the tension like a blade.

Bagman froze mid-step, blinking as if he'd forgotten she was even there. "What?" he stammered, turning toward her.

"You just skipped me," Dahlia said, folding her arms. "Unless, of course, you've decided I don't qualify as a lady anymore, Bagman. Do enlighten me."

"Oh, oh—no! Not at all, my dear!" Bagman's face turned the color of a radish. "Just an oversight, I assure you."

"Sure," Dahlia said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oversight. Definitely doesn't feel personal at all."

The other champions exchanged uneasy glances. Cedric shifted awkwardly, trying to shrink into the background, while Krum scowled, likely annoyed by the delay.

"Well, go on then," Dahlia said coolly, stepping forward and holding out her hand. "Before you skip me again and make this even more awkward."

Bagman hastily thrust the bag toward her, avoiding eye contact. Dahlia plunged her hand inside, feeling the cool silk brush her fingers before they closed around her miniature Hungarian Horntail. As she pulled it out, the tiny dragon spread its wings and bared its fangs, the number four dangling from its neck.

"Of fucking course, out of all the dragons, I get the bloody Horntail," Dahlia muttered, frustration clear in her voice.

"Wonderful!" Bagman said, his voice a little too loud. "Absolutely splendid—moving on now! Krum, your turn!"

Dahlia stepped back, holding the little dragon in her hand, her eyes narrowing as Bagman turned his attention to Krum. "Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath. Cedric gave her a sympathetic half-smile, but Dahlia ignored him, too busy glaring daggers at Bagman's back.

Krum silently reached into the bag and drew out the scarlet Chinese Fireball, number three glittering on its tiny chain. He looked at it with a blank expression, gave a curt nod, and sat back down without a word.

Bagman clapped his hands together. "And there we have it! Everyone knows their dragon, everyone has their number—splendid!"

Dahlia shot him a pointed look but said nothing. She wasn't about to waste more energy on the likes of Ludo Bagman, especially with what lay ahead. The Horntail in her hand seemed to glare back at her, its tiny tail twitching ominously.

"Dahlia . . . could I have a quick word? Outside?" Bagman asked, his jovial tone clashing with the growing tension in the tent.

"Sure, whatever," Dahlia said flatly, standing up with a deliberate slowness. The others watched her go with varying levels of curiosity and relief—at least one of them wasn't sticking around to infect the tent with more nerves.

Bagman led her a short distance into the trees, away from the tent and the growing hum of the crowd. He stopped abruptly, turning to her with what he likely thought was a comforting, fatherly expression. It came off more like someone who was trying too hard not to look guilty.

"Feeling all right, Dahlia? Anything I can get you? A cup of tea, perhaps? A calming draught?" he asked, his voice dripping with false warmth.

"Tea? Really?" Dahlia said, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "Do I look like I have time for a tea party?"

"Well, no, of course not," Bagman chuckled nervously. "Just trying to help. This task can be quite . . . daunting."

"Daunting? Oh, you don't say," Dahlia replied, her voice laced with sarcasm. "It's not like you've shoved me into a deathmatch with a dragon or anything."

Bagman's smile faltered. "Now, now, let's not exaggerate—"

"Exaggerate?" Dahlia cut him off, taking a step closer. "I'm sorry, Bagman, do you have to face a fire-breathing monster in front of half the wizarding world while everyone waits to see if you'll be flambéed or flattened? No? Then spare me the faux sympathy."

Bagman raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Fair point, fair point. Look, I'm just here to . . . you know . . . offer some advice. A little help, maybe."

Dahlia narrowed her eyes. "Help? You mean, cheat?"

"No! No!" Bagman said quickly, though the color rising in his cheeks betrayed him. "Just, uh, tips. Strategies, you know. You're the underdog, after all . . ."

"Oh, how generous of you," Dahlia said dryly. "But if you think I'm going to owe you anything after this, you've got another thing coming."

Bagman's expression turned sheepish, but he didn't deny her accusation. "Fine, fine. Just thought I'd offer. Good luck out there—remember, keep your head and—oh, there's the whistle! Must dash!"

As Bagman scurried off, Dahlia muttered under her breath, "Coward." She turned and made her way back to the tent, bracing herself for what was to come.

Inside the tent, the tension was palpable. Dahlia barely had time to sit down before the whistle blew, signaling Cedric's turn. He emerged from the tent looking greener than ever but managed to nod at Dahlia as he passed.

"Good luck," Dahlia said, her voice neutral but laced with a tinge of sympathy.

"Thanks. You too," Cedric replied, his voice shaky.

As he disappeared, the noise of the crowd outside erupted into a cacophony of cheers and gasps. Bagman's commentary echoed in the distance, narrating every move Cedric made.

"Risky move there . . . oh, clever boy! Watch out—oh, that was close!"

Fleur was pacing now, her steps quick and sharp. Viktor sat in the corner, staring at the ground, his expression unreadable. Dahlia leaned back in her seat, her arms crossed as she listened to the crowd's reactions. Every cheer, every gasp made her stomach tighten.

Finally, the roar of applause signaled Cedric's success. Dahlia could hear Bagman announcing his marks, though she couldn't make out the exact scores. Another whistle blew, and Fleur froze mid-step.

"Miss Delacour, if you please!" Bagman's voice rang out.

Fleur took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and strode out of the tent with as much poise as she could muster. Dahlia watched her go, a flicker of admiration crossing her face despite their differences.

The sounds from the arena began again—Bagman's voice booming, the crowd reacting to Fleur's every move. Dahlia found herself fidgeting, her fingers tapping against her thigh as the tension built.

"Not sure that was wise!" Bagman shouted. "Oh! Nearly—careful, now!"

Fleur's performance seemed shorter than Cedric's. Before long, the crowd erupted into applause, and Dahlia heard the whistle again.

"And here comes Mr. Krum!" Bagman called.

Krum rose without a word and left the tent, his shoulders hunched as though bracing against a storm. Dahlia was left alone, the silence in the tent deafening. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she couldn't stop replaying her plan over and over in her mind.

Outside, the crowd's reactions painted a vivid picture of Krum's encounter with the Chinese Fireball. "Daring!" Bagman exclaimed. "Oh, excellent—wait, no, that's—watch out!"

Dahlia paced now, unable to sit still. Her Hungarian Horntail model sat on the bench, glaring at her as if mocking her nerves.

Finally, the applause came again, shattering the winter air like breaking glass. The whistle blew for the last time.

"Potter!" Bagman's voice was almost gleeful. "It's your turn!"

Dahlia took a deep breath, her hands trembling. She grabbed her wand and walked out of the tent, the noise of the crowd growing louder with each step.

This was it. Time to face the impossible.

Dahlia stepped into the enclosure, her breath misting in the cold November air. The Hungarian Horntail loomed at the far end, crouched protectively over its clutch of eggs. Its yellow, piercing eyes fixed on her, unblinking and predatory. The crowd erupted into cheers and gasps as she entered the arena, but Dahlia blocked out the noise, focusing on her task.

From high in the stands, Bagman's magically amplified voice boomed across the enclosure.

"And here comes Potter! Our youngest champion, facing off against the infamous Hungarian Horntail! Look at that glare, ladies and gentlemen! The dragon, not Potter—although she's not exactly looking thrilled either!"

The crowd chuckled nervously at Bagman's quip, but Dahlia didn't notice. She took a deep breath, her mind racing as she clutched her robes tightly.

"Oh, what's this? Potter's standing still—she's sizing up the Horntail, no sudden movements," Bagman narrated. "Smart choice! A bit of strategy, perhaps? Or sheer terror? Hard to say!"

Dahlia focused on thinking about her Firebolt, then whispered, "Accio Firebolt." Her voice was steady, but her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn't afford for this spell to fail. The broom was in the castle—far away—and it would take time.

Bagman leaned forward in his box, squinting. "And Potter casts her first spell! A Summoning Charm—wandless, no less! Impressive, if it works, though one wonders what she's summoning. A shield? A weapon? A—wait, what's she doing now?"

Dahlia lowered her wand and took a bold step forward. "Oh, great mother dragon," she began in Parseltongue, her voice calm and steady, "I come here in peace."

The crowd gasped audibly, a ripple of shock spreading through the stands.

"She's speaking Parseltongue!" Bagman exclaimed, nearly dropping his magical microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, Dahlia Potter is a Parselmouth! Now, this is a twist! Is she negotiating with the dragon? Oh, this is brilliant—absolutely brilliant!"

The Horntail's eyes widened slightly, and it tilted its head, intrigued. Its tail, which had been swishing menacingly, stilled.

"A youngling speaker?" the dragon hissed, its voice low and rumbling.

"Yes," Dahlia replied. "I mean no harm, great mother dragon. One of your eggs is fake. My task is to retrieve the fake egg. I swear I'll take only what isn't yours. I hope you won't turn me into barbecue for this because—well—honestly, I didn't even want to be in this tournament. And now I'm rambling . . ."

The Horntail let out a low growl, which the crowd interpreted as a threat, and Bagman's commentary grew frantic.

"Oh no! That growl doesn't sound friendly! What is Potter playing at? Talking to a dragon—it's madness! Absolute madness!"

But the dragon's growl softened into something almost like a purr. "Very well, youngling speaker," it said, lowering its massive head. "You may take the fake egg. But be quick about it."

"Thank you, great mother dragon," Dahlia said, her voice trembling slightly. The dragon leaned forward, gently touching its forehead to hers in a gesture of respect. The crowd was deathly silent, too stunned to react.

"Oh . . . my . . . word," Bagman stammered, his voice breaking with astonishment. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is unprecedented! Potter has tamed the beast! She's—she's petting the dragon! I don't believe what I'm seeing!"

Just then, a whooshing sound caught Dahlia's attention. Her Firebolt streaked into the enclosure, hovering inches from her outstretched hand.

"And there it is! Potter's broomstick has arrived! But what's she planning now?" Bagman cried, his excitement palpable.

Dahlia seized the broom and mounted it in one smooth motion, clutching the golden egg under her arm. She kicked off from the ground, soaring into the air in a graceful arc.

"She's flying, folks! She's making her escape!" Bagman shouted, his voice rising to a fever pitch. "Look at her go! It's like watching a professional Quidditch player in action! The dragon isn't even chasing her—it's just watching! This is unbelievable!"

The crowd erupted into deafening applause, cheering wildly as Dahlia looped around the enclosure once for good measure before landing safely on the other side of the fence.

"Look at that!" Bagman bellowed, his excitement carrying over the roaring crowd. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is the quickest to secure her egg! What a display of skill and nerve! Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is sure to shorten the odds on Miss Potter!"

"Ladies and gentlemen," Bagman roared, "I don't think we've ever seen anything quite like this in the history of the Triwizard Tournament! Dahlia Potter, our youngest champion, has conquered the Hungarian Horntail with cunning, courage, and—dare I say it?—a touch of dragon whispering! What a performance!"

The stands erupted into a frenzy of applause and cheers as Dahlia soared over them, her Firebolt cutting smoothly through the air. The noise was deafening, a noise that seemed to echo her own heartbeat. The golden egg gleamed in her arm, its weight both reassuring and surreal. She had done it—she had survived the first task.

Her flight back to the enclosure felt almost dreamlike. Professor McGonagall, Professor Moody, and Hagrid were hurrying toward her, waving her over with broad smiles that were visible even from a distance. Dahlia's chest swelled with a mixture of relief and pride as she angled her broom downward and came in for a smooth landing.

The moment her feet touched the ground, McGonagall was there, her sharp eyes glittering with something that almost resembled pride. "That was excellent, Potter!" she said, her voice high with excitement. From McGonagall, such praise felt almost extravagant, and Dahlia couldn't help the small grin that tugged at her lips.

"Thanks, Professor," she said, brushing her windswept hair back into place. She noticed then that McGonagall's hand trembled slightly as she pointed at her shoulder.

"You've come through it without a scratch," McGonagall said, her tone edged with amazement. "Your godfather and uncle will be beside themselves with pride when they see this."

Dahlia blinked, confused. "When they see this?"

"Oh, I'll be sending them my memory of the task," McGonagall said briskly, as if this was entirely ordinary.

Dahlia's eyebrows shot up. "You can do that?"

McGonagall gave her a wry look. "Miss Potter, there is much about magic you have yet to learn."

Before Dahlia could respond, Hagrid barreled into view, his massive frame nearly bowling her over as he clapped her on the back. "Yeh did it, Lia!" he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Yeh did it! An' agains' the Horntail an' all! Yeh know Charlie said that was the wors'—"

"Thanks, Hagrid," Dahlia interjected loudly, cutting him off before he could accidentally let slip that she'd had prior knowledge of the dragons.

Moody approached next, his wooden leg thumping against the ground. His magical eye whirled wildly before fixing on her. "Nice and easy does the trick, Potter," he growled approvingly, a rare grin tugging at his scarred face. "Smart flying. Smart thinking."

"Well, Miss Potter," McGonagall interrupted, though there was a faint smile on her lips, "even if you've no injuries, Madam Pomfrey insists on checking each of the champions. Off to the first aid tent with you now."

Dahlia nodded, still catching her breath, and began walking toward the first aid tent. The golden egg was clutched tightly in her hand, the cheers of the crowd still ringing in her ears. She had done it. She had faced a Hungarian Horntail and walked away unscathed. Her heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.

Inside the medical tent, Madam Pomfrey was waiting at the entrance, her arms crossed and her expression stern. "Dragons!" she said in a disgusted tone, ushering Dahlia inside with quick, shooing motions. "Honestly, dragons! What are they going to bring into this school next? Trolls? Giants? A basilisk, perhaps? Oh, wait—" She stopped herself with a huff, shaking her head. "Ridiculous, that's what it is!"

The tent was divided into small cubicles, each screened off with canvas. Dahlia caught a glimpse of Cedric's silhouette through the fabric—he was sitting up and appeared unharmed.

"Sit," Madam Pomfrey ordered sharply, pointing to a chair. Dahlia obeyed, still holding onto her broom and egg. Madam Pomfrey leaned over her, scanning her with a glowing wand and muttering spells under her breath.

"Well, I'll be—no injuries," she said after a long moment, sounding both surprised and relieved. "You're very lucky, Miss Potter. Especially considering your track record for landing in the hospital wing!"

Dahlia gave her a sheepish smile, but before she could reply, Madam Pomfrey pressed on.

"Last year dementors, this year dragons—what's next? You'll be running straight into a Chimera, no doubt!" She clicked her tongue disapprovingly, bustling around the tent. "Now, just sit quietly for a minute—you need to rest. Sit! And then you can go get your score."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Dahlia said obediently, sinking deeper into the chair. She clutched the golden egg a little tighter, its smooth surface cool against her skin. She had survived the first task. Now, all that remained was to see how the judges would score her performance.

As the healer bustled out of the tent, she heard her go next door and say, "How does it feel now, Diggory?" she asked briskly, her voice barely muffled by the canvas.

Dahlia smiled faintly but found it impossible to sit still. The adrenaline coursing through her veins made her feel as though she might fly again without the Firebolt. She got to her feet and was making her way toward the tent's entrance when two familiar figures darted inside.

"Lia, you were brilliant!" Hermione squealed, her voice shrill with excitement. Her hands flew up to her flushed cheeks, revealing faint crescent marks where her fingernails had bitten into her skin. "Absolutely amazing! You really were!"

But Dahlia's eyes locked on Ron, who had gone pale as a ghost. His freckles stood out starkly against his white face as he stared at her, unblinking.

"Lia," Ron said hoarsely, his voice heavy with regret. He took a deep breath before continuing, his words tumbling out. "I'm sorry for how I've been acting these past weeks. Truth is, I regretted what I said to you that night in the common room after your name was called. But my stupid pride—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair. "What you said on Saturday, about needing me—I realized how badly I've messed up. I've been a terrible friend. A terrible brother. I—"

Ron didn't get to finish because Dahlia launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. "I missed you," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, but they were tears of relief. "Hermione's great, but I needed my brother too. I forgive you."

Hermione, who had been watching the scene with wide eyes, suddenly burst into tears. "You two are so stupid!" she shouted, stamping her foot for emphasis as tears streamed down her face. "Stupid and stubborn!" Before either of them could respond, she flung her arms around both of them, squishing them together in a fierce hug, then dashed out of the tent, sobbing hysterically.

"Barking mad, that one," Ron said, shaking his head, though his smile betrayed his amusement. He slung an arm around Dahlia's shoulders. "C'mon, Lia, they'll be putting up your scores."

Picking up the golden egg and her Firebolt, Dahlia felt a wave of exhilaration wash over her. She had not only survived the first task but also mended the rift with Ron. With him by her side, they made their way out of the tent, Ron talking a mile a minute.

"You were the best, no question about it. Cedric tried Transfiguring a rock into a dog to distract his dragon. Clever idea, but the dragon went after him anyway and he got burned—orange paste all over his face now. Fleur used a sort of charm to make hers sleepy, but it snored and sent a jet of flame straight at her. Set her skirt on fire. Krum didn't even bother flying! Hit his dragon right in the eye with a spell, but it went berserk and crushed a bunch of the real eggs. They docked points for that, obviously. But you—you were brilliant!"

As they reached the edge of the enclosure, Dahlia looked up to where the judges were seated on raised platforms draped in gold.

"Scores are out of ten," Ron explained as Madame Maxime raised her wand. A long, silver ribbon spiraled into the air, forming the number nine.

"Not bad!" Ron exclaimed. "Bet she knocked a point off because you did better than Fleur."

Mr. Crouch was next. He shot a perfect ten into the sky.

"Brilliant!" Ron cheered, clapping her on the back.

Dumbledore's turn came, and another ten appeared.

Bagman followed with a ten as well.

"Bloody hell, Lia! That's three tens!" Ron yelled, practically bouncing with excitement.

Finally, Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused, his expression inscrutable, before sending a number into the air—a four.

"What?" Ron exploded, his ears going red with anger. "Four? You lousy, biased scumbag! You gave Krum a ten!"

But Dahlia wasn't bothered. Karkaroff's blatant bias was meaningless compared to the warmth she felt at Ron's indignation on her behalf. It was worth a hundred points in her mind, though she didn't say so.

Charlie Weasley met them as they headed back toward the castle.

"You're first place, Lia!" he called, grinning broadly. "Merlin's beard, I didn't know Parseltongue worked on dragons!"

Dahlia grinned back. "Well, they're part of the same magical family."

Charlie laughed. "I'm impressed. If you ever want to work with dragons, owl me. We could use someone like you!"

"Thanks, but I don't see myself as a dragon tamer. If I ever change my mind, though, you'll be the first to know," she replied with a chuckle.

"Listen, I've got to send Mum an owl—she'll want to hear all about this. But Bagman wants to see you back in the champions' tent."

Ron stayed behind as Dahlia reentered the tent. This time, it felt less intimidating, almost friendly. She exchanged grins with Cedric, whose burn was being treated with orange paste, before Bagman bustled in, beaming.

"Well done, all of you!" he said enthusiastically. "Now, the second task will take place on February twenty-fourth at half-past nine. Until then, enjoy the break—but here's a little something to think about!" He pointed at the golden eggs. "They open—see the hinges? Inside is a clue to the next task. Solve it, and you'll know how to prepare. Off you go now!"

As Dahlia rejoined Ron, a figure leapt out from behind a tree. Rita Skeeter, clad in acid-green robes, greeted her with a saccharine smile, her Quick-Quotes Quill hovering expectantly.

"Dahlia! Congratulations! Just a quick word—how did it feel to face that dragon? What about the fairness of the scoring?"

"You can have a word," Dahlia said coldly. "Goodbye."

With that, she turned on her heel, Ron by her side, and they headed back to the castle, leaving Rita spluttering in their wake.

Chapter Text

As soon as they rounded the corner and escaped Rita Skeeter's view, Ron let out an exaggerated groan.

"She's like a Blast-Ended Skrewt in human form," he muttered.

Hermione was waiting for them just outside the Great Hall, holding something small and familiar in her hands. "Here," she said, stepping forward and handing the object to Dahlia. "I got it from your drawer earlier. Go on, call them. I know you're dying to tell them."

Dahlia's heart swelled with gratitude as she took the mirror. It gleamed faintly in the soft torchlight. She whispered, "Sirius Black," and the surface rippled like water before solidifying. After a moment, Sirius's tired but familiar face appeared.

"Hey, Prongslet," he greeted, his voice warm despite the exhaustion in his eyes. "I just got home. How are you?"

"Siri, I'm in first place!" Dahlia burst out, her face lighting up. "My plan worked—though I won't spoil the details since Minnie said she's sending you guys the memory. But I got through it without a single injury!"

Sirius's eyebrows shot up. "Siriusly?" He grinned at his own pun. "That's amazing! Thank Merlin you made it out in one piece. A dragon? And you're telling me this so casually? You're braver than your dad ever was, and that's saying something."

Dahlia laughed. "I wouldn't go that far. It was terrifying, honestly."

"Well, you handled it brilliantly, by the sound of it." Sirius rubbed his eyes and sighed. "I hate to cut this short, Prongslet, but I'm wiped. You're incredible, though, and I couldn't be prouder."

"It's okay, Siri," Dahlia said, her voice softening. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You too, Lia. And remember—you've got this."

The mirror went blank, and Dahlia tucked it away, a warm glow of satisfaction in her chest.

"There's no way any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous. How could they be?" Ron said as they started toward the Gryffindor common room. He shot her a sideways glance, his grin sheepish but genuine. "You know what? I reckon you could win this tournament, Lia. I mean it."

Dahlia smiled but couldn't ignore the part of her that felt Ron was trying to overcompensate for the last few weeks. Still, his encouragement was welcome, and she appreciated the effort.

Hermione, however, wasn't so easily swayed. She folded her arms, her brow furrowed in concern. "Lia's got a long way to go before she finishes this tournament," she said firmly. "If that was the first task, I hate to think what's coming next."

"Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you?" Ron retorted. "You and Professor Trelawney should form a club. Doom-and-Gloom Weekly."

Before Hermione could retort, a deliberate cough from behind them made all three spin around. Standing there, looking as smug as ever, was Draco Malfoy, flanked by Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Theodore Nott was conspicuously absent.

"Well, well," Malfoy drawled, his gray eyes glinting. "Weaselbee, I see you've finally pulled your head out of your—"

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Ron snapped, his ears reddening.

"Nothing from you, obviously," Malfoy sneered.

Before the tension could escalate, Pansy suddenly darted forward and threw her arms around Dahlia. "Oh, sweet Salazar, you scared us half to death with that dragon!" she exclaimed dramatically, releasing her before grabbing her shoulders. "Honestly, Dahlia, what were you thinking?!"

"What?" Dahlia laughed, startled. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Barely," Blaise interjected with a smirk. "You should've seen Draco—ready to jump into the enclosure and 'rescue' you."

Draco turned crimson and glared at Blaise. "Shut up, Zabini! If you're going to bring that up, maybe we should talk about how you nearly strangled Theo during the whole thing. And Greengrass glaring daggers at you? Priceless."

"Aw," Dahlia teased, her grin widening. "The big, bad Slytherins were worried about me?"

Pansy huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Of course we were! You're our friend now, aren't you?"

Ron and Hermione were gaping, their mouths opening and closing like fish.

"Wait—what?" Ron spluttered. "Since when were you friends with them?"

"Since the night they announced the champions," Dahlia said with a shrug.

"Oh..." Ron blinked, clearly struggling to process this revelation.

Just as Ron finished sputtering, Pansy looped her arm through Dahlia's, pulling her slightly aside with an exaggerated air of camaraderie.

"You have no idea how much stress you put us through," Pansy said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Honestly, Lia, watching you face down that dragon was like sitting through one of Professor Binns' lectures—pure torture, but without the luxury of falling asleep."

"Yeah, because you looked so calm," Blaise quipped, smirking. "Wringing your hands like some nervous maiden in a romance novel. Don't let her fool you, Potter—she was biting her nails the whole time."

"I was not!" Pansy retorted, glaring at him. "And even if I was, it's only because someone wouldn't stop pacing and muttering about stupid Gryffindors getting themselves killed!"

Blaise smirked, shooting a glance at Draco, who scowled.

"I was not muttering," Draco protested, folding his arms. "I was making observations. Honestly, it's a miracle you managed to pull it off, Potter. You had that reckless look in your eyes. I thought for sure you'd do something—well, Gryffindor-ish."

Dahlia crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "And what exactly does that mean, Malfoy?"

"You know," he replied with a smirk, "charging in without a plan, all heroics and no sense. But..." He hesitated, as if grudgingly swallowing a bitter pill. "I'll admit you surprised me. You had a plan. Not terrible."

"Wow, Draco, is that a compliment?" Dahlia teased, pretending to look shocked. "Careful, your reputation might not recover."

"Don't get used to it," Draco shot back, though there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

"Still," Blaise added, "the dragon thing was impressive. Really impressive. Not many people could pull that off, even if they do talk to snakes."

"Well, dragons are related to snakes," Dahlia said, brushing off the praise with a small smile. "They're both magical reptiles. I just... took a chance."

Pansy nodded sagely. "And it worked. But honestly, if you ever do something that dangerous again, at least give us a warning so we can prepare ourselves for the heart attacks."

"Yeah," Blaise added. "Next time, at least let us know if we should be writing a eulogy or betting on your survival."

"I'll keep that in mind," Dahlia said with a laugh.

Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione stood frozen, their jaws practically hitting the ground.

"You're actually friends with them?" Ron finally managed, his voice a mix of disbelief and incredulity.

Dahlia turned to him with a shrug. "Why not? They're not as bad as you think, Ron. You'd be surprised what a decent conversation can do."

"Decent? With Malfoy?" Ron gestured at Draco, who raised an eyebrow.

"Relax, Weaselbee," Draco said, his tone dripping with mockery. "We're not here to steal your precious Potter away. Although..." He smirked. "I'll admit, we do enjoy her company. She's not completely insufferable."

"Gee, thanks," Dahlia said dryly.

"Wait," Hermione interrupted, still looking puzzled, her brow furrowed in disbelief. "Does this mean... you've been spending time with them? Outside of class?"

"Of course she has," Pansy said brightly, looping her arm tighter around Dahlia's. She gave Hermione a playful smile, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We even studied together last week. Well, Draco complained most of the time, but still."

"Pansy!" Draco exclaimed, glaring at her, his ears turning faintly pink.

"Oh, please," Pansy waved him off with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "Don't act like you hated it. Admit it, you actually enjoyed yourself."

"I absolutely did not," Draco said, straightening his robes. "You lot were insufferable. Especially you, Parkinson, with your endless chatter."

"Chatter?" Pansy gasped, looking scandalized. "I was keeping things lively! Honestly, Draco, if it weren't for me, our little study sessions would feel like detention with Professor Snape."

"You mean I'd actually get some peace and quiet," Draco muttered under his breath, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if fighting a smile.

Dahlia snorted. "Face it, Malfoy, you wouldn't know what to do with peace and quiet. You'd probably start complaining just to fill the silence."

Draco glared at her, but there was no real malice in his expression. "I don't need commentary from you, Potter."

Blaise leaned casually against the wall, smirking. "Honestly, Draco, just admit it was a nice change of pace. Merlin knows we all needed a break from Greengrass and Theo."

"Not that we don't adore Theo," Pansy added quickly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "He's our dear friend, after all. But that fiancée of his..." She groaned dramatically, clutching at her heart. "I swear, I'm one argument away from strangling her with her own perfectly polished hair ribbon."

"I'll hold her down," Blaise offered with a lazy grin.

Draco snorted, though his tone lacked conviction. "Greengrass isn't that bad," he said with a casual shrug. "But, yes, the constant hovering is... suffocating."

"Suffocating?" Pansy repeated, fixing him with a sharp look and raising an eyebrow. "Draco, she orders us around like we're her personal house-elves. And mind you, not even our parents boss us around like that!"

Blaise let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms. "She does have a talent for making herself sound like the queen of Slytherin. That, or a particularly nagging aunt."

"Right?" Pansy agreed, gesturing emphatically. "I swear, one more lecture about how we're 'letting the house down' or 'damaging the Malfoy reputation,' and I'm going to hex her perfect little hair ribbon into snakes."

Draco raised his hands defensively. "I never said I liked it! Merlin, do you lot think I enjoy having my every move scrutinized? 'Draco, straighten your tie.' 'Draco, stand taller.' 'Draco, you'll embarrass us all if you don't—'"

"Finish that sentence and you'll sound just like her," Blaise cut in smoothly, smirking.

Pansy snickered. "Honestly, Lia, I don't know how you Gryffindors handle it. You're practically raised to rebel against authority. Must be liberating."

Dahlia shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "We just call it having opinions. Something Greengrass clearly isn't a fan of."

Pansy burst out laughing. "Oh, Merlin, if she heard you say that—"

"She'd probably faint," Blaise finished with a grin.

Draco rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the faint smile curling at the edge of his lips. "All right, enough of the Greengrass bashing. She's annoying, but she's not the Dark Lord."

"No, but she's definitely got the same knack for making people squirm," Pansy teased, nudging him with her elbow.

"Merlin's beard, you're insufferable," Draco muttered, though the warmth in his tone suggested he didn't entirely mind.

Ron, however, was staring at the scene as though he'd walked into an alternate universe. "So... what does this mean?" he asked slowly, his gaze shifting between Dahlia and the Slytherins. "You're just... friends now?"

"Looks like it," Dahlia said with a grin.

"Does this mean we have to be civil with Weaselbee and Granger?" Draco groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically.

"Hush, Draco," Pansy said, nudging him.

Before Draco could protest further, Pansy extended her hand toward Hermione, who hesitated before shaking it. Blaise did the same with Ron, who looked like he was trying not to grimace as he shook hands.

Draco sighed heavily, muttering under his breath as he held out his hand last. "Let's just get this over with."

Dahlia watched with a grin as Hermione and Ron awkwardly shook hands with the blond Slytherin as the Slytherin apologized, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Well, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Pansy said cheerfully.

"Speak for yourself," Draco muttered, wiping his hand on his robes with an exaggerated shudder.

"Don't be dramatic," Dahlia teased.

As the Slytherins walked off, Blaise turned to flash a grin over his shoulder. "Catch you later, Lia. Try not to get into any more life-threatening situations, yeah?"

"No promises, there's still two more tasks after all!" Dahlia called back, laughing as Pansy waved dramatically and Draco muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

Ron turned to her, looking equal parts bewildered and impressed. "This year just keeps getting weirder and weirder."

"You'll get used to it," Dahlia said with a smirk. "Eventually."

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower was filled with animated chatter. By the time they pushed through the portrait hole, the common room exploded into cheers and yells so loud it felt like the walls themselves were vibrating.

Neville practically launched himself at Dahlia, wrapping her in a tight hug. "Thank Godric you weren't turned into barbecue! I was worried the whole time!"

Dahlia patted him on the back with a smirk. "Barbecue? Really, Neville? I'm insulted. If that dragon so much as thought about roasting me, I'd have given it a lecture it wouldn't forget."

'Right, because you were definitely not just ranting to the dragon earlier about not wanting to end up as dragon barbecue,' Dahlia thought to herself

This earned a round of laughter, and Neville stepped back, looking sheepish but relieved.

The common room had been transformed into a full-blown celebration. Mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer covered every available surface, while Filibuster's Fireworks burst overhead, filling the air with stars and colorful sparks. Dean Thomas had outdone himself with some new banners; one depicted Dahlia darting expertly around the Horntail on her Firebolt, while another hilariously showed Cedric with his head comically engulfed in flames.

Dahlia, feeling ravenous for the first time in days, grabbed a plate of food and dropped onto a couch beside Ron and Hermione. She could hardly believe how lighthearted she felt—Ron was back on her side, the first task was behind her, and she wouldn't have to deal with the second for months.

"Blimey, this is heavy," Lee Jordan said, picking up the golden egg from a nearby table and weighing it in his hands. "Open it, Dahlia, go on! Let's see what's inside!"

Hermione's head snapped up. "She's supposed to figure it out on her own," she said quickly, as if she were the tournament referee. "It's in the rules."

Dahlia leaned closer and muttered to Hermione, "I was also supposed to figure out how to not get fried by a dragon on my own, but we all know how that went." She winked, and Hermione gave her a half-scolding, half-amused look.

"Yeah, open it!" several people echoed, passing the egg back to Dahlia. Rolling her eyes dramatically, she pried the egg open with her fingernails.

The moment the egg cracked open, an ear-piercing screech filled the room. The sound was so awful it drowned out the fireworks and sent everyone scrambling to cover their ears.

"SHUT IT!" Fred Weasley bellowed, clutching his head like it was about to split. Dahlia snapped the egg shut, and the room fell blessedly silent.

"What in Merlin's name was that?" Seamus Finnigan said, staring at the egg as if it might explode. "Sounded like a banshee! Maybe you've got to fight one next, Dahlia!"

"Oh, brilliant," Dahlia said sarcastically. "Because fighting a dragon wasn't enough excitement for one year. I'll add 'banshee duel' to my calendar."

"It wasn't a banshee," Neville said nervously, his face pale. "It sounded like someone being tortured! You're going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!"

"Don't be a prat, Neville. That's illegal," George said, shaking his head. "Though, if it was Percy singing, I'd believe it. Maybe you've got to hex him while he's in the shower, Dahlia."

The room erupted in laughter, and even Dahlia had to grin. "As tempting as that sounds, I'll pass. No way am I risking that mental image becoming permanent."

Fred, meanwhile, was holding out a plate of jam tarts to Hermione with a suspiciously innocent look. "Want one, Hermione?"

Hermione eyed the tarts warily. "What did you do to them?"

"Nothing!" Fred said with an exaggerated look of offense. "The custard creams are the ones you've got to watch—"

Before he could finish, Neville—who had just bitten into a custard cream—choked and spat it out, feathers sprouting from his face.

Fred doubled over laughing. "Oh, sorry, Neville! Forgot to mention the custard creams were hexed!"

Within seconds, Neville had turned into a large canary, much to the room's roaring delight. A minute later, he molted back to normal, looking thoroughly bemused but laughing all the same.

"Canary Creams!" Fred announced to the crowd. "Seven Sickles each—cheap at twice the price!"

The festivities carried on well past midnight, with Dahlia fielding endless questions about the task, laughing at Fred and George's antics, and dodging a suspiciously sparkly pumpkin juice Lee tried to hand her.

Finally, as the clock struck one, she dragged herself upstairs with Hermione. Her limbs were heavy, but her spirits were high. She set the tiny model of the Hungarian Horntail Hagrid had gifted her on the table beside her bed. It yawned, stretched its wings, and curled up as if preparing to guard her through the night.

As Dahlia climbed into bed, she couldn't help but smile to herself. For all the chaos, danger, and noise, tonight had been worth it. As she pulled her hangings shut, she glanced at the little dragon one last time, muttering, "You know, Hagrid was right. Dragons aren't so bad after all."

The start of December brought howling winds and sleet to Hogwarts. Even with its drafty corridors and enchanted windows rattling against the gales, Dahlia was grateful for the castle's warm fires and thick stone walls. Every time she glanced out at the Durmstrang ship tossing in the stormy lake, its black sails straining against the wind, she couldn't help but shiver.

Nothing particularly eventful had happened—unless one counted the parade of boys asking Dahlia to Hogsmeade. The invitations seemed endless, coming not only from Hogwarts students but also from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons boys eager to win her favor. Despite the growing annoyance of her self-appointed "bodyguards"—Fred, George, Ron, and Neville—Dahlia handled the situation with her usual sass and poise.

"Oh, I'm really sorry, Zahar, was it? I'm not interested." Dahlia offered the Durmstrang boy a polite but firm smile as he stumbled over a parting sentence.

"Sorry, Corner, but I'm going to have to pass," she said later, sidestepping Michael Corner as he turned an awkward shade of red.

"Nope. Definitely not going with you, McLaggen," she deadpanned, giving Cormac her sharpest glare before he could launch into another self-centered pitch.

"Uh, Gabriel, right? I'm sure you're a great guy, but I'm just not interested." She smiled apologetically as the Beauxbatons boy gave a dramatic sigh before retreating.

By the time she returned to the Gryffindor common room one evening, four boys were sprawled dramatically across the floor, looking utterly spent. Fred and George each had their arms slung over their eyes, Ron was rubbing his temples, and Neville had flopped onto the rug like a defeated knight.

"Merlin, Lia," George groaned, lifting an arm to gesture vaguely in her direction. "How many more boys are we supposed to chase off? I think I've pulled something."

"I swear, if one more bloke comes sniffing around, I'm breaking out our newest product," Fred said, lifting his head. A mischievous gleam lit his eyes. "Nothing says 'stay away' like a Canary Cream—permanently modified, of course."

"Oh, please do," Neville chimed in from the floor, still staring at the ceiling.

Dahlia laughed, tossing her bag onto the couch. "Honestly, you lot, you didn't have to chase them away. I can handle it perfectly fine on my own."

Fred sat up, looking mock-offended. "Handle it? What's the point of having a team if you're just going to go rogue?"

"It's called 'being an independent woman,' Fred. You should try it," she teased, plopping into a chair and crossing her legs.

Neville rolled over onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands. "I'm just saying... at this rate, we're going to have to owl Sirius for reinforcements. He'd love this."

"Don't you dare!" Dahlia gasped, her eyes wide with mock horror. "If Sirius finds out, he'll go full 'overprotective godfather' on me. He'd probably show up to Hogsmeade himself and scare off everyone within a ten-mile radius."

"Hello, we're already losing it here!" Neville waved his hand. "Do you know how many Durmstrang blokes we've had to 'accidentally' trip in the corridors?"

Dahlia rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "I didn't ask you guys to scare them off, you know. I could've just said no, and they'd leave."

"Asked or not, it's our sacred duty to protect you," Fred declared, puffing out his chest theatrically. "We have to do better than last time, after all."

"Last time?" Hermione chimed in from her corner, looking over the top of her book. "What happened last time?"

Fred, George, and Ron all exchanged sheepish looks before Neville muttered, "Let's just say there was an incident involving a very persistent Ravenclaw and a Nosebleed Nougat gone horribly wrong."

Dahlia stared at them, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Well, thanks for that vote of confidence. Just promise me one thing—no owling Sirius."

"Fine," Fred said with an exaggerated sigh. "But if McLaggen tries it again, all bets are off."

Dahlia snorted, tossing a cushion at his head. "Do what you want. Just keep Sirius out of it, or we'll all be doomed."

In the cozy, dimly lit Slytherin common room, the flickering light of the green-tinted fire danced across the stone walls as a group of students lounged on the plush leather sofas. Pansy Parkinson, draped dramatically across one arm of the couch, sighed wistfully.

"Merlin, Dahlia already has a line of boys chasing after her," she said, toying with a strand of her hair. "Honestly, it's like every eligible wizard in Hogwarts — and beyond — suddenly woke up to how incredible she is."

"Well, can you blame them?" Blaise Zabini drawled, smirking as he stretched lazily. "She's got everything: an heiress, absolutely stunning, sharp as a whip, and let's not forget she talks to dragons. Really, she's the full package. If you ask me, someone made the colossal mistake of letting her go."

His words hung in the air, eliciting a round of chuckles from Draco, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

The only person not amused was Theodore Nott, who sat in a chair slightly removed from the group, a thick tome open in his lap. His scowl deepened as Blaise's smirk widened.

Pansy's eyes gleamed mischievously as she caught sight of Theo's reaction. "Ooh, looks like someone's feeling a bit green with envy," she teased, propping her chin on her hand. "Too bad he did let her go. You must be kicking yourself now, Theo."

"I didn't let her go," Theodore snapped, his voice low but laced with irritation. He slammed his book shut with a sharp thud and glared at her. "I'm still trying to figure out how to end this ridiculous engagement."

His admission caught everyone's attention. Blaise arched an eyebrow. "Still holding out hope, are we?" he said, clearly entertained. "You think Dahlia's going to wait around for you while half the school lines up to take her to Hogsmeade?"

"She's not some prize in a raffle," Theodore retorted coldly. "And unlike you, Blaise, I don't need to line up."

Pansy snorted, enjoying the tension immensely. "Really, Theo, if you're so determined, why not just tell Greengrass to shove off? Or better yet, have a little chat with your father about this archaic engagement nonsense."

"It's not that simple," Theodore muttered, running a hand through his hair. His usual calm and collected demeanor seemed to crack slightly under the weight of the conversation. "But trust me, I'm working on it."

"You'd better work fast," Pansy said lightly, though her eyes held a glint of warning. "Dahlia doesn't exactly strike me as the type to wait around. If anything, she's probably too good for all of us. If you don't step up, someone else will."

"Someone like Blaise, perhaps?" Crabbe said with a low chuckle, earning an exaggerated eye roll from Blaise.

"Not interested, you all know I don't swing that way," Blaise said with a smirk. "But it would be hilarious to see Theo go into a jealous rage. Imagine the scene."

Theodore gave him a withering look before standing abruptly. "You're all insufferable," he muttered. "If you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than sit here and listen to you lot gossip like third years."

As he strode away, Pansy leaned toward Blaise and whispered, "He's absolutely hopeless. But honestly, it's sort of cute seeing him all riled up."

Blaise chuckled, watching Theo retreat. "Hopeless or not, he's got a point. If Theo wants her back, he'd better figure things out soon. Dahlia isn't exactly short on admirers."

"True," Pansy said with a sly grin. "And honestly? She deserves every bit of attention she's getting."

As Professor McGonagall swept into the Transfiguration classroom, the usual hush fell over the students. She flicked her wand, and the chalk began writing instructions for the day's lesson on the board. Dahlia had barely taken out her notes when McGonagall's sharp voice cut through the air.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Potter," McGonagall said sternly, her gaze flicking between Ron and Dahlia, who were whispering and snickering over something Hermione had clearly disapproved of. "If you find your conversation more engaging than my lesson, perhaps you'd like to share it with the class?"

Ron turned red and muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but Dahlia, leaning back in her chair with her signature confidence, flashed a cheeky grin.

"Oh, Professor, I was just giving Ron some much-needed advice on charm etiquette—seems like he's going to need it soon," Dahlia said, earning muffled snickers from the Gryffindors around her.

McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line, though there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "Indeed? Well, perhaps I can save you the trouble. Since it appears neither of you have been paying attention to my earlier notices, allow me to enlighten you—there will be a Yule Ball, a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament."

The class broke out into murmurs, but McGonagall silenced them with a raised hand.

"The Yule Ball is an opportunity for all students to—how shall I put it?—broaden their social horizons. As champions, Miss Potter, you will lead the proceedings with your fellow champions, which means you must attend and, naturally, bring a partner."

Dahlia blinked, her smirk faltering slightly. "Wait, hold on. You're telling me that on top of fighting dragons and surviving this tournament, I also have to dance? In front of everyone?"

"Precisely," McGonagall replied with a curt nod, her expression unyielding.

"Well, that's just cruel," Dahlia quipped, crossing her arms. "Can't we skip straight to the dessert table instead? I promise I'd be an excellent ambassador for cake diplomacy."

The Gryffindors erupted into laughter, but McGonagall fixed her with a look so pointed that it could have cut through steel.

"Miss Potter, this is not a request. You will dance, and you will do so with dignity befitting your role as a champion. I trust I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Dahlia replied, though her tone still carried an undercurrent of sass. "Guess I'll have to start taking dance lessons in my copious amounts of free time between dodging death and being harassed by boys in the corridors."

Ron, who had been unusually quiet, leaned over and whispered, "At least you'll have no shortage of options for a date."

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. If one more boy asks me out, I might have to set George loose on them with Canary Creams."

Later that evening, Dahlia stormed up to her dormitory, muttering under her breath about unfair tournaments and surprises no one prepared her for. She yanked her enchanted mirror from her bedside table and barked, "Sirius Black!"

His face appeared after a moment, his expression amused but tired. "Prongslet! What's—"

"You absolute motherfucker!" she exploded, pointing an accusatory finger at the mirror.

Sirius blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Well, hello to you too. And for the record, I've done a lot of questionable things, but Lily wasn't one of them."

"Why didn't you warn me about the dancing?!" Dahlia exclaimed, tossing herself dramatically onto her bed. "A ballroom waltz, Sirius! A waltz! I can barely get through a normal dance without stepping on toes, let alone something fancy. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is going to be?!" She groaned, covering her face with a pillow.

Sirius leaned back in the mirror, clearly fighting laughter. "Relax, Prongslet. It's just a dance. You've survived dragons. You can survive a waltz."

She whipped the pillow off her face and sat up, glaring at him. "Dragons don't care if you step on their toes, Sirius! This is entirely different. This involves people watching. Judging."

"People judge you all the time," he said with a grin. "You don't care about that."

"This is different!" she snapped, pacing the room now. "I'll look like an idiot in front of the entire school. And Cedric. And Viktor Krum. And Merlin knows who else!"

Sirius shrugged. "You've got time to practice. Ask someone to teach you. You're a fast learner, Prongslet. You've got this."

She froze mid-pace. "Ask someone? Oh, yeah, great idea, because everyone loves being stomped on while I learn to dance. Who do I even ask?! Wait..." Her eyes lit up mischievously. "Draco! He must know how to waltz. Pureblood etiquette and all that. He can teach me."

Sirius arched an eyebrow. "You think Draco Malfoy is going to agree to teach you how to dance? Good luck with that."

Dahlia crossed her arms. "Okay, fine. Plan B. Neville. He's got that patient, nice vibe. He won't even mind if I step on him once or twice."

"Twice?" Sirius smirked. "Optimistic."

She ignored him, her mind already racing. "Neville's probably in the common room. Or maybe I'll just ambush Draco tomorrow. Either way, I'll figure it out. I always do."

Sirius laughed, shaking his head. "That's the spirit, Prongslet. Just remember: it's a dance, not a duel. Try not to take anyone out in the process."

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sirius. Truly inspiring."

"Anytime," he said, still grinning as the mirror went dark.

Dahlia set the mirror down with a sigh. "Waltzing," she muttered to herself. "As if dragons weren't bad enough." But even as she groaned, a spark of determination flickered in her eyes. She wasn't going to let a silly dance get the better of her.

Dahlia rushed back to the common room, scanning for Neville. When she didn't find him, she bolted to the boys' dormitory and flung the door open to see Neville awkwardly practicing steps on his own.

"Hey, Nev!" she called, startling him so badly he tripped over his own feet.

"Lia! You scared me!" he said, clutching his chest.

"Sorry, but I need your help." She grinned, bouncing on her toes. "Do you need a partner? Because I don't know how to waltz, and you're my best chance. Please teach me!"

Neville's face flushed. "Me? Teach you?"

"Yes, you!" she said, tugging him to his feet. "Unless you'd rather I embarrass myself in front of the whole school."

Neville laughed nervously. "All right, fine. I'll teach you."

Dahlia beamed. "You're the best, Nev."

For the next hour, Neville patiently guided Dahlia through the steps, correcting her posture and gently steering her when she tried to lead. Despite her initial clumsiness, she quickly picked it up, laughing every time she stumbled over his feet.

"You're a fast learner," Neville said, smiling as they finished a perfect spin.

"Thanks to you," Dahlia replied, catching her breath. "I owe you one, Nev."

"Anything for my god-sister," he said with a wink.

Dahlia laughed, feeling far more confident as she left the dormitory. 

The next day, As Dahlia entered the Gryffindor common room, she found Ron, Neville, and Hermione waiting for her. Ron and Neville immediately stood up, their eyes scanning her face for signs of trouble.

"Another batch?" Ron asked, narrowing his eyes as if expecting a boy to burst through the portrait hole after her.

Dahlia sighed, throwing herself onto the couch. "A cluster this time. I think McLaggen's starting to make this his full-time hobby."

Neville folded his arms, his expression unusually stern. "He's persistent, I'll give him that. Want me to hex him next time?"

"Can we skip straight to the hexing stage?" Ron chimed in, pacing near the fireplace. "Honestly, these blokes don't seem to understand the word 'no.' It's infuriating!"

"Merlin's beard, you two need to relax," Dahlia said, rolling her eyes but smiling slightly. "I handled it, didn't I? No one died. Yet."

Hermione, who had been sitting with a book in her lap, closed it with a decisive snap. "Honestly, Lia, I don't know how you put up with it. This whole ball thing has turned Hogwarts into chaos. The girls are all desperate to be asked, and the boys are—well—them." She gestured toward Ron and Neville.

Dahlia smirked. "Oh, you mean my self-appointed bodyguards here? Yes, they're very subtle."

"We're just doing our job," Ron said defensively. "Someone's got to keep those vultures away from you."

Neville nodded solemnly. "If I see McLaggen so much as breathe near you again, I'll—well, I'll figure something out."

"Oh, please," Dahlia said with a laugh, propping her chin on her hand. "It's just a ball, not a battle. You're acting like I need Auror-level protection to walk to Transfiguration."

Ron huffed. "With the way those Durmstrang blokes are looking at you? Maybe you do!"

"You're not helping, Ron," Hermione said sharply, though a twitch of amusement betrayed her at the corners of her lips. She turned her attention to Dahlia. "Have you decided who you're going to go with yet?"

"Decided?" Dahlia threw her hands up with mock exasperation. "Hermione, I'm still trying to survive the daily parade of proposals! Every other minute it's, 'Oh, Dahlia, would you do me the honor?' or 'Miss Potter, I'd die a thousand deaths if you don't accompany me.' It's exhausting! And honestly, not one of them has managed to catch my attention."

Neville shifted awkwardly, his ears pink. "Maybe—maybe you don't need anyone to catch your attention. You could just... go alone. Who needs a date, right?"

"Yeah," Ron chimed in hurriedly, leaning forward as if this was the most brilliant idea he'd ever heard. "Who needs a date? You'd have a way better time without some bloke ruining your night."

Dahlia arched a brow, folding her arms across her chest. "Uh, have you both forgotten why I need a date? I'm a champion, Ron. It's literally part of the rules. Otherwise, trust me, I'd happily roll up solo, all decked out, and leave everyone to drool over my fabulousness without worrying about some guy stepping on my toes."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Dahlia wasn't done. "And, for the record, the only boy I'd actually want to go with is currently engaged and off being dragged around by his future wife." Her voice held a hint of bitterness as she tapped her fingers against her arm.

"Nott," Neville muttered under his breath, glancing at Ron.

"Obviously," Dahlia quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "And before you say anything, yes, I'm aware of how utterly tragic that sounds."

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "Well, whoever you choose—or don't—just make sure it's someone you're comfortable with. The last thing you need is drama at the ball."

"Oh, Hermione," Dahlia said with a sly grin, "I am the drama. But I'll think about it. Maybe I'll pick someone just to see the look on Theo's face." She smirked, mischief gleaming in her emerald eyes, as Ron and Neville exchanged wide-eyed glances.

Ron groaned, ruffling his hair. "This is going to be a disaster."

"For who?" Dahlia asked, her smirk widening. "Because I think I'll be having the time of my life."

"Good grief," Hermione muttered under her breath.

Later that evening, the chilly night air bit at Dahlia's cheeks as she strolled along the edge of the Black Lake, her cloak wrapped tightly around her. The stars reflected on the lake's surface, shimmering like scattered diamonds. For the first time in days, she felt at peace, away from the constant crowd of admirers who seemed intent on testing her patience.

She sighed, breathing in the crisp, cold air. "Finally," she muttered, glancing up at the night sky. "No boys, no drama—just me, the stars, and a bit of quiet."

Her moment of tranquility was short-lived, however, as a voice with a thick accent spoke behind her.

"What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

Dahlia turned, startled but quickly recovering as she recognized Vladimir from Durmstrang. She arched a brow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

"Oh, Vlad," she drawled, crossing her arms. "I could ask you the same thing. Lurking behind girls by the lake, are we?"

The tall Durmstrang boy looked genuinely surprised by her response and gave a small chuckle. "I was just out for some fresh air," he said, gesturing toward the restless waters of the lake.

"Same here," Dahlia replied, her tone lighter now. "It's been a while since I've had a midnight stroll. Too many boys hounding me during daylight hours. I needed a moment to myself, and... I like the stars." She tilted her head upward, her emerald eyes glinting in the moonlight.

Vladimir hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Hm, Dahlia, I've heard... that you've been rejecting a lot of boys for the Yule Ball."

Dahlia rolled her eyes dramatically. "You don't say? It's like every eligible—and not-so-eligible—boy in this school has decided I'm their last chance for happiness. Tragic, really."

"I was hoping," he continued, his tone growing softer, "that I won't be one of them."

Dahlia blinked, caught off guard. "What? I don't follow—"

"Will you go with me to the Yule Ball?" Vladimir asked, his words coming out in a rush as though he was afraid he'd lose his nerve.

Dahlia stared at him, her mouth opening and closing as she processed the question. She was about to politely decline—after all, she wasn't exactly looking for a date though she did need one, only for the opening dance—when an idea struck her. Theodore Nott. If there was one thing that would rattle him, it would be showing up to the ball with someone as tall, handsome, and regal as Vladimir.

Her lips curled into a sly smile. "Sure," she said finally, her tone light but firm.

Vladimir's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he managed to keep his composure. "Really?" he said, sounding both hopeful and cautious.

"But," Dahlia said, holding up a hand, "I have conditions." She stepped closer, her voice calm but serious. "Please don't think this means I'm interested in you. I like—no, I love—someone else. I'm just going with you as a friend. You're the perfect choice for the opening dance, and frankly, I need a partner."

"Oh..." Vladimir faltered, his confident demeanor cracking slightly. "I see."

"I'm sorry, Vlad." Her voice softened, and for a moment, the sass melted away, replaced by something more vulnerable. "You're a great guy, but my heart... it already belongs to someone else. Even if he's going to be married soon enough." She forced a small, pained smile, trying not to dwell on her own words.

Vladimir studied her for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. "It is... fine," he said finally, straightening his posture. "Even if it's not what I had hoped, it would still be an honor to be your date, Dahlia."

She gave him a grateful nod, a flicker of guilt tugging at her chest. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"I must return now," Vladimir said after a brief pause, his tone formal once more. "Goodnight, Dahlia."

"Goodnight, Vlad," she called after him, watching as he walked away, his figure soon disappearing into the shadows.

As she turned back toward the castle, Dahlia couldn't help but smirk. "Well," she muttered to herself, "this Yule Ball just got a lot more interesting."

The next morning, as Dahlia made her way to History of Magic with Ron and Hermione, a familiar voice called her from behind.

"I bet he's going to ask you to the Yule Ball," Ron muttered under his breath, his tone a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

"Hey, Cedric," Dahlia greeted, turning to face the tall, broad-shouldered Hufflepuff. His usual confident demeanor was softened by a nervous smile, and she tilted her head slightly, curious about his request.

"Uh... I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment," Cedric said, glancing quickly at Ron and Hermione before meeting her eyes. "In private. It'll only take a second."

Dahlia hesitated and checked her watch. She still had ten minutes before class started. "Sure," she said with a nod. Then, turning to her friends, she added, "You guys go ahead. I'll catch up."

Ron looked outraged. "You can't just—"

"I've got this," Hermione cut in firmly, grabbing Ron by the sleeve and steering him away. "Come on, we don't want to be late."

Ron grumbled all the way down the corridor but didn't put up much of a fight under Hermione's watchful glare.

"So," Dahlia said, folding her arms and looking up at Cedric. "What's up?"

Cedric hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "Uh, I was wondering... if you'd like to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

Dahlia blinked, caught off guard. "Oh."

"I mean," Cedric continued quickly, "it makes sense, right? We're both Hogwarts champions, and it would send a strong message. You know, united front and all that." He offered a tentative smile, though there was a faint blush on his cheeks.

Dahlia grimaced slightly, and Cedric's smile faltered. "Cedric, I'd love to, really—"

"But..." Cedric finished for her, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"But," Dahlia confirmed with an apologetic smile, "I've already got a date. I'm sorry."

Cedric gave her a small nod, his disappointment evident but gracious. "Ah, I see. Guess I was a little too late, huh? Well, I hope he knows how lucky he is, and that he looks after you."

Dahlia softened at his words. "Thanks, Cedric. And for what it's worth, whoever you ask next will be lucky too."

He gave her one last warm smile, then turned and walked away. Dahlia let out a small sigh, shaking her head as she headed to class.

By the time she slid into her seat beside Ron and Hermione, Ron was staring at her expectantly. "Well?" he demanded. "What did he want?"

"He asked me to the Yule Ball," Dahlia said, pulling out her notes.

"And?" Hermione prompted, looking intrigued.

"And I told him I already have a date," Dahlia replied, her tone nonchalant.

Ron gaped at her. "You—what? You already have a date? Who?"

Dahlia smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Oh, come on!" Ron groaned, while Hermione stifled a laugh behind her hand.

The last week of term was a whirlwind of excitement, especially as the Yule Ball loomed ever closer. Rumors spread like wildfire, and while Dahlia didn't believe half of them—such as the one about Dumbledore allegedly buying eight hundred barrels of mulled mead from Madam Rosmerta—she couldn't help but get swept up in the anticipation. One thing was certain: Dumbledore had booked the Weird Sisters. While Dahlia had no idea who they were (having never had access to a wizard's wireless), the sheer buzz around the school told her they were big, probably a lot bigger than the muggle bands she used to hear about from Dudley.

As the days passed, however, it wasn't just the rumors that made things chaotic. It was the flood of boys asking Dahlia to the ball—Hogwarts boys, Durmstrang boys, even some from Beauxbatons. While she was more than capable of handling it, her friends weren't quite as impressed.

"Right, another one?" Dahlia sighed, glancing up from her book. She was in the Gryffindor common room, curled up in a chair near the fire. "I swear, this is starting to feel like a bloody circus."

"Look, Lia," Fred said, rolling his eyes as a boy with messy blonde hair came up to Dahlia, nervously clutching a piece of parchment. "If one more kid asks you out, I swear I'll sell them all a box of Skiving Snackboxes. That should keep them occupied."

"Not sure how effective that'll be," Dahlia muttered, raising an eyebrow as the boy stuttered out his proposal. "Sorry, Jack, right? Not interested," she said, shooting him a smile that was just polite enough to not hurt his feelings but firm enough to turn him away.

Fred and George collapsed onto the floor beside her with exaggerated sighs, while Ron and Neville looked on from the table, clearly trying to hide their amusement.

"You can't be serious," George said, the sarcasm practically dripping off his words. "Another one turned away?"

"Honestly, how many of them can there be?" Dahlia chuckled. "The audacity of some of them—asking like it's some sort of competition."

"You think you've seen the worst of it? Wait until you're hit with another batch after the holidays," Ron teased, but there was a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

"I'll handle it, Ron," she said coolly, flipping a page of Pride and Prejudice without looking up. "If they can't take no for an answer, it's their problem, not mine."

"Dahlia, we've got to protect you," Neville said, looking a little too serious for the occasion. "Someone's going to get their feelings hurt."

"Why? Because you think I'm going to end up with one of these clowns?" Dahlia smirked, setting her book down and finally meeting Neville's eyes. "I can handle myself, Neville. They'll just have to keep lining up."

"If one more boy tries to hit on you, I'm sending them a Howler," George said with a grin, nudging Fred. "I'm serious. Don't test me." Dahlia laughed. 

"Wait, you still haven't told us who your date is?" Ron asked, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow as he looked at Dahlia.

"You'll find out at the Yule Ball," she teased, giving him a sly smile before returning her attention to her book.

"Well, of course she has a date," Fred said. "She's been fending off boys for weeks."

"You've actually said yes to one of them?" George asked, his tone full of surprise and genuine curiosity.

Dahlia just shrugged, a nonchalant smirk curling on her lips. "You'll see soon enough."

"I swear, you're no fun," Fred muttered. "You're keeping us in suspense."

"You'll just have to deal with it," Dahlia shot back, her voice dripping with playful arrogance. "But don't worry, I'm sure you'll all figure it out by the time the Yule Ball rolls around."

Ron's face twisted in mild panic. "I need to hurry up and ask someone, don't I? Can't let all the good ones slip away, like Fred said."

"Well, you better get a move on," Fred said with a grin, "or you'll end up stuck with someone like Eloise Midgen." He and George exchanged a look and burst out laughing, knowing full well how Ron felt about her.

"That's just mean, Fred," Dahlia said, shooting Ron an apologetic glance before turning back to her book. "Eloise is nice, and her acne's been getting better, too."

Ron grimaced. "She still looks like a troll."

Hermione, who had been quietly listening to the whole exchange, spun around, her voice sharp. "What did you just say?"

"Er—nothing," Ron muttered, realizing he'd made a mistake.

"Seriously, Ron," Dahlia said, glaring at him. "You're going to judge someone for something so stupid?"

"I mean—" Ron started, but before he could finish, Hermione snapped, "I don't know why I even bother," and stormed off toward the girls' staircase.

"You're a prat, you know that?" Dahlia said, her voice laced with annoyance as she turned back to Ron.

"Well, you were a bit harsh on him," Neville said, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Oh please, someone had to say it," Dahlia muttered, picking up her book again. "Not that he ever listens."

Fred, George, and Ron all stared at her, dumbstruck by the way she managed to stand her ground while still looking utterly unbothered. "Fair enough," Fred finally said. "You've got guts, Lia."

"Guts? I've got brains too," she said, winking at him, before her eyes flicked back to her book, content with leaving the boys to figure out their own mess.

The Hogwarts staff, eager to impress the guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, had pulled out all the stops to make the castle shine this Christmas. Dahlia had never seen the decorations more dazzling. Every corner of the school seemed to sparkle with festive cheer. The marble staircase was draped in shimmering, everlasting icicles, catching the light with every step. The Great Hall, as always, boasted twelve grand Christmas trees, but this year, they were adorned with a breathtaking array of ornaments—from luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls perched high on the branches. The suits of armor, not to be outdone, had been bewitched to sing carols whenever someone walked by. It was quite a sight to hear "O Come, All Ye Faithful" sung by an empty helmet that only knew half the words. More than once, Filch had to drag Peeves out from inside the armor, where the mischievous poltergeist had been hiding and inserting his own, decidedly rude lyrics into the songs.

Sitting at breakfast, Dahlia leaned over to Ron, who was still lamenting the fact that he had no date for the upcoming Yule Ball. She gave him a teasing smile. "You could always go with Moaning Myrtle," she said.

Ron groaned, rolling his eyes. "I'm serious here, Lia."

Dahlia raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "No, you're not. That's my godfather you're talking about, silly."

Ron gave another exaggerated groan. "As if my dress robes aren't bad enough already. Now I have to show up without a date? Great."

"Oh, about your dress robes..." Dahlia began, just as Hedwig flew into the Great Hall, carrying a neatly wrapped parcel. The snowy owl landed gracefully in front of Ron and dropped the package into his hands. Ron's eyes widened when he saw the expensive-looking robes inside.

"Lia, I can't possibly accept this! This must've cost a fortune," Ron said, his voice full of disbelief.

"Nah, those are Sirius's old dress robes. Don't worry about the cost," Dahlia replied casually. "He said they didn't fit him back then, but he reckons they'll fit you just fine."

Ron looked uncertain, glancing down at the fine material. "Are you sure? I mean, it's a bit much..."

"Trust me, Ron. It's no big deal. They're from his teenage years, so don't think they'll fit him now anyway. They're yours now," Dahlia said with a shrug.

Ron stared at her, clearly moved. "You shouldn't have, Lia. I really can't—"

"Oh, as if I was going to dance with you in those hideous dress robes," Dahlia teased, making Ron laugh. "No offense to Mrs. Weasley" she added

"Fair point," Ron said, finally breaking into a grin.

"Now, about that date..." Dahlia began, her voice turning more serious. "You need someone to dance with. Hermione and I are going to be busy with our dates, and I'm not about to let you mope around all night."

"Wait—Hermione has a date?" Ron's voice cracked, clearly taken aback.

Dahlia smirked. "Of course she does. Too bad you didn't ask her first."

Ron blinked, looking genuinely confused. "What? What are you talking about? I have no intention of asking Hermione. She's my best friend. Besides, who is her date anyway?"

Dahlia just winked. "My lips are sealed."

Dahlia, much to Professor Snape's thinly veiled irritation, had aced her Potions test. His sneering remarks about "flukes" and "unwarranted confidence" fell flat as she handed in her parchment with a knowing smirk. As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Dahlia slung her bag over her shoulder and strolled out of the dungeon, Ron and Hermione hurrying to catch up with her.

"I'll meet you two at dinner," she said, already turning to head in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed with curiosity.

"The library. I've got something to check," Dahlia replied, her tone casual but her emerald-green eyes sparkling with intrigue.

Ron snorted. "Don't you ever get tired of the library?"

"Don't you ever get tired of not being top of the class?" Dahlia shot back, her lips curling into a teasing grin. She didn't wait for a reply and breezed off toward the library, leaving Ron spluttering indignantly while Hermione stifled a laugh.

In the quiet sanctuary of the library, Dahlia wandered between the shelves, scanning the spines of dusty tomes. She wasn't entirely sure what she was looking for, but the golden egg in her possession had been nagging at her mind since the day she got it. Her eyes landed on a book titled Merfolk and Other Underwater Creatures, its worn leather cover embossed with silver waves. Intrigued, she plucked it from the shelf and flipped it open to the chapter on merfolk.

"Mermaids are real?" Dahlia muttered under her breath, eyebrows raising in surprise as she skimmed the text. She read aloud softly, "Mermaids cannot sing above the water, but in the depths, their voices are hauntingly beautiful, capable of enchanting those who hear them."

Her gaze flicked back to the egg nestled in her bag. The pieces were starting to come together. The eerie, screeching wails she'd heard when she first opened the egg must have been a clue. It needs to be submerged... she thought. But her excitement quickly dimmed as a new problem arose.

Her dorm bathroom didn't have bathtubs—just sinks—and she couldn't very well lug the egg out to the Black Lake, not when it was frozen solid. And that's not even considering the stares I'd get from dragging an egg through the snow...

With a dramatic sigh, she closed the book and tucked it back onto the shelf. "Guess I'll have to wait until after the holidays," she grumbled to herself, rolling her eyes.

"Fairy lights," Dahlia said to the Fat Lady, who nodded enthusiastically. The password had only just been changed the previous day.

"Yes, indeed, dear!" trilled the Fat Lady, adjusting her new tinsel headband as she swung forward to reveal the entrance.

Dahlia stepped into the Gryffindor common room, pausing for a moment to take in the warm glow of the firelight and the buzz of conversation. To her surprise, she spotted Ron sitting pale-faced in a corner, with Ginny beside him, speaking to him in a low, soothing voice. His expression was one of absolute horror, as if he'd just been handed a detention lasting a lifetime.

"What's up, Ron?" Dahlia asked, striding over to join them. She arched a brow as she took in his ashen complexion.

Ron looked up at her with wild, desperate eyes. "Why did I do it?" he croaked. "What was I thinking?"

"What did you do now?" Dahlia asked, crossing her arms as a mix of curiosity and amusement flickered across her face.

"He—he just asked Fleur Delacour to the ball," Ginny said, her voice laced with sympathy, though a grin tugged at her lips. She patted Ron's arm in mock consolation.

Dahlia's jaw dropped. "You what?" she said, her tone halfway between disbelief and laughter.

"I don't know what made me do it!" Ron groaned, burying his face in his hands. His words were muffled, but he kept rambling. "There were people everywhere—she was talking to Diggory—and then, out of nowhere, I just... asked her!"

Ginny leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "He says she looked at him like he was a sea slug and didn't even answer."

Dahlia's lips twitched, barely containing a laugh. "Ron, I hate to break it to you, but that might be the most ambitious—and spectacularly doomed—thing you've ever done."

Ron moaned louder. "And then—I dunno—I just sort of came to my senses and bolted! Everyone saw. Everyone!"

"She's part Veela," Dahlia said, shaking her head. "Honestly, you're lucky you didn't propose. That charm of hers is no joke."

"Yeah, well, it's a load of rubbish," Ron muttered, glowering. "Diggory doesn't seem affected by it. Why isn't he a gibbering mess?"

Dahlia snorted. "Maybe because he has more self-control than you. Or, I don't know, maybe because he's actually her type."

Ron glared. Ginny, meanwhile, was clearly biting back laughter. "Oh, it gets better," Ginny added. "Guess who Neville asked to the ball?"

"Who?" Dahlia said, intrigued.

"Hermione," Ginny replied, finally letting out a giggle.

"What?" Dahlia said, her voice rising in surprise.

"Yup," Ron said with a bitter laugh. "Apparently, he thought she'd say yes because she's always nice to him. But she told him she already has a date. As if!" He scoffed. "She just didn't want to go with Neville. I mean, who would?"

"Hey, watch your mouth—that's my godbrother you're talking about!" Dahlia shot back, her emerald eyes narrowing. "And besides, Ron, I've already told you: Hermione has a date. Try listening for once."

"Yeah, sure," Ron said dismissively, waving a hand. "I bet you were joking earlier."

Before Dahlia could retort, the portrait hole swung open, and Hermione climbed through, her arms full of books. She looked at the group suspiciously.

"Why weren't you two at dinner?" she asked, setting her books down and joining them.

Ginny smirked. "Because Ron had just been turned down by Fleur Delacour!"

"Thanks a lot, Ginny," Ron muttered sourly, slumping lower in his chair.

"All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?" Hermione said loftily, raising an eyebrow. "Eloise Midgen starting to look quite appealing now, is she?"

Dahlia snickered, earning a glare from Ron.

"Well, I'm sure you'll find someone willing to take pity on you," Hermione added with a touch of acid.

But Ron was staring at her as though he'd only just realized she was standing there. "Hermione, Neville's right—you are a girl..."

"Oh, well spotted," Hermione said dryly, rolling her eyes.

"Well, then—you can come with me!" Ron said, sitting up straighter.

"No, I can't," Hermione snapped.

"Come on!" Ron said impatiently. "I need a partner. Everyone else has someone—it's going to look really stupid if I don't!"

"I can't come with you, Ron," Hermione said, her cheeks tinged pink, "because I'm already going with someone."

"No, you're not!" Ron said stubbornly. "You just said that to get rid of Neville!"

Hermione's eyes flashed. "Just because it's taken you three years to notice I'm a girl doesn't mean no one else has!"

Ron blinked, momentarily stunned. Then he grinned. "All right, all right, we get it. You're a girl. Happy now? So... you'll come, then?"

Hermione's face turned crimson. "I've already told you—I'm going with someone else!" She spun on her heel and stormed off toward the girls' dormitory.

"She's lying," Ron said flatly, still watching her retreating form.

"She's not," Ginny said quietly.

"She's not, Ron," Dahlia said sharply, fixing him with a glare. "And stop being such a prat about it just because she found a date before you did."

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but Dahlia cut him off, her voice softening. "Look, I love you, Ron, but you've been a right foul git. Get over yourself. You're better than this."

For once, Ron had no retort. He just stared at Dahlia, looking slightly ashamed—and maybe, just maybe, a little grateful.

Ginny had just left, and Dahlia was pondering her next move when Parvati and Lavender climbed through the portrait hole, their chatter filling the common room. The time had come for drastic action.

"Wait here," Dahlia said to Ron, who looked at her with a mix of hope and desperation.

With a purposeful stride, she approached Parvati and Lavender. "Parvati," Dahlia said directly, wasting no time. "Will you go to the ball with Ron?"

Parvati looked taken aback for a moment but then gave Dahlia an apologetic smile. "Oh, sorry, Lia, but I'm already going with Dean."

Dahlia's eyes flicked to Lavender. "How about you, Lavender? Will you go with Ron?"

Lavender hesitated, looking mildly uncomfortable. Parvati quickly jumped in. "She's going with Seamus."

Dahlia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Can either of you think of anyone else who'd go with Ron?"

Parvati tilted her head, considering. "What about Hermione Granger?"

Dahlia raised a brow. "She's going with someone else," she said curtly, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

Parvati looked astonished. "Really?"

"Really," Dahlia said.

"Well... we can't think of anyone else. Sorry, Lia," Parvati said, giving an apologetic shrug.

"Figures," Dahlia muttered before sighing deeply. "It's fine."

She turned back to Ron, who was anxiously waiting, his foot tapping against the floor.

"Would you mind if I got you a date from another house?" Dahlia asked.

"No, of course not," Ron said quickly, his desperation plain. "Just—please—I'm desperate."

"Perfect," Dahlia said, a grin spreading across her face. "Be right back."

Without another word, she darted out of the portrait hole.

Dahlia sped through the corridors, her mind whirring. As she approached the hallway leading to the Great Hall, her sharp emerald eyes caught sight of a group of Slytherins. Draco, Theo, Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, and, most importantly, Pansy Parkinson.

Grinning, Dahlia made a beeline for them. "Pansy!" she called, catching the girl's attention. Without hesitation, she looped her arm through Pansy's.

"Dahlia," Pansy said, her voice dripping with mock surprise. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Dahlia didn't bother with pleasantries. "Do you have a date to the Yule Ball?"

Pansy blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Uh... no. Why? Were you planning to ask me?" she teased, smirking.

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "Wha—no. I was hoping you'd go with Ron."

Pansy stared at her, her expression thoughtful. "Weasley?" she asked, tilting her head. "Hmm. Sure, why not?"

"Perfect," Dahlia said, grinning.

Draco, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of disdain and disbelief, interjected. "Pansy, you can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious, Draco," Pansy replied with a pointed look. "And don't you dare criticize my date. I haven't said a word about yours, have I?"

Draco huffed but said nothing further.

"Oh, Dahlia, darling," Pansy added, turning back to her with a sly smile. "Please do tell Weasley that my dress robes are burgundy. I'd hate for his robes to clash with mine."

"They won't," Dahlia assured her with a smirk. "Thanks, Pansy."

As Dahlia turned to leave, the remaining Slytherins exchanged glances.

"Damn," Blaise muttered, watching her go. "She didn't even spare Theo a glance."

"Do you reckon she's moved on from him?" Gregory said.

"It's possible," Draco said, shrugging. "Especially with all those boys chasing after her."

"I feel bad for Theo," Vincent added with a small shake of his head.

"I'm right here, you know," Theo said flatly, his tone laced with irritation.

Blaise grinned. "Yeah, but that's half the problem, isn't it?"

Back at the Gryffindor common room, Dahlia swept in triumphantly, her emerald eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Well?" Ron asked, practically leaping to his feet, a mix of hope and dread written all over his face.

"You're all set," Dahlia said, her smirk widening. "You're going with Pansy Parkinson."

Ron's jaw dropped as his face turned several shades of red. "P-Parkinson? As in Slytherin Pansy Parkinson?"

"Yep," Dahlia chirped, her tone overly bright, like she was announcing a grand prize. "She's your date! Oh, and she asked me to remind you—her dress robes are burgundy. So, you know, make sure yours don't clash. Heaven forbid you ruin her aesthetic. Which means, of course, you'll definitely be wearing the robes Sirius sent."

Ron groaned loudly and dropped back into his seat, burying his face in his hands. "This is mad. Completely mad. How did you even talk her into this?"

Dahlia crossed her arms, her grin never wavering. "Mad? Ron, you're lucky I didn't set you up with Moaning Myrtle. She's got plenty of free time and would love to haunt the dance floor with you."

At that, Ginny, who had just reentered the room, burst into laughter so hard she had to clutch her sides. "She's got a point, Ron," Ginny managed between giggles.

Ron peeked through his fingers to glare at them both. "Very funny. Hilarious, actually. Fine! Burgundy. Got it," he muttered, his voice muffled with defeat.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow and gave him an approving nod. "Good. Now, do me a favor and try not to scare her off with your... impeccable dance moves."

Ginny let out another peal of laughter. "Or his dazzling charm," she added, clearly enjoying Ron's torment.

Ron shot them both a sour look. "You're supposed to be on my side, Ginny."

"Oh, I am," Ginny said, smirking. "But this is just too good to pass up."

Dahlia plopped onto the couch next to him, her smirk softening into a grin. "Relax, Ron. Pansy's not so bad once you get past the constant sneering. She can even be kind of fun—if you squint really hard."

Ron groaned again. "Great. Just great. The ball hasn't even started, and I already want to crawl under a table."

"Well, you can't," Dahlia said with mock seriousness. "You'll be too busy twirling Pansy across the dance floor."

"Why do I even talk to you?" Ron grumbled, slouching deeper into his seat.

"Because you love me," Dahlia quipped, tossing her hair dramatically.

"Right now, I'm reconsidering," Ron muttered, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Ginny shook her head, still chuckling. "You two are impossible."

"Hey, I get results," Dahlia said, leaning back with a satisfied expression. "Ron's got a date, and Pansy's got... well, a project. It's a win-win."

"Project?!" Ron exclaimed indignantly.

"Yup," Dahlia replied breezily. "And for the record, you're welcome. Again."

Chapter Text

The fourth years were swamped with homework over the holidays, and Dahlia, ever the diligent student, had started hers immediately. The Gryffindor common room, however, was a cacophony of noise, more chaotic than during term time. It felt as though the space had shrunk, made worse by the rowdy antics of its inhabitants. Fred and George's latest invention, Canary Creams, had become the hit (or terror) of the holiday season. Feathers erupted unpredictably throughout the room as unsuspecting victims were duped into tasting the enchanted treats.

By the second day of the chaos, Gryffindors had learned to treat any offered food with extreme caution, much to Fred and George's chagrin. "They're working on something new," George had confided to Dahlia with a sly grin that set her on edge. She made a mental note to never accept even a single crisp from the twins again.

Snow fell thickly over the castle and grounds, blanketing the world in pristine white. The Beauxbatons carriage glistened like a frosted pumpkin in the snow, contrasting with the Durmstrang ship, whose icy rigging and glazed portholes made it look like a ghostly vessel. In the Great Hall, the house-elves outdid themselves with steaming stews and decadent puddings. Only Fleur Delacour seemed unimpressed.

"It is too 'eavy, all zis 'Ogwarts food," Fleur complained loudly as they left the hall one evening. Ron, lurking behind Dahlia, cringed and tried to avoid being seen. "I will not fit into my dress robes!"

Hermione, overhearing this, muttered under her breath, "Oh no, what a catastrophe. Somebody alert the Prophet."

"She does think quite highly of herself," Dahlia added with a smirk. "But, you know, maybe if she eats a few more puddings, she won't have time to steal anyone else's date."

As they made their way up the marble staircase, Ron suddenly turned to Hermione. "Hermione—who are you going to the ball with?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes betraying his curiosity.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not telling you. You'll only make fun of me."

Before Ron could press further, a sneering voice cut through the air.

"You're joking, Weasley," Daphne Greengrass drawled from behind them. "You're not telling me someone actually asked that Mudblood to the ball? With that hair? Honestly, I didn't think charity cases were a thing here."

Dahlia spun around, her emerald eyes flashing dangerously. "Shut your mouth, Greengrass, before I make you regret it."

Daphne smirked, unfazed. "Oh? And what are you going to do about it, Potter?"

Hermione stepped forward before Dahlia could retort, her expression deceptively calm as she waved to someone behind Daphne. "Hello, Professor Moody!"

Daphne's face drained of color, and she jumped, spinning around to look for the retired Auror. Moody, of course, was still seated at the staff table, enjoying his stew, entirely unaware of the commotion.

Dahlia smirked. "Scared much, Greengrass? Don't worry, I'm sure you'd make a much better ferret than Malfoy."

Hermione laughed, and even Ron couldn't suppress a grin as the trio continued up the stairs, leaving Daphne fuming.

Once they were out of earshot, Ron glanced sideways at Hermione, frowning slightly. "Hermione, your teeth..."

"What about them?" Hermione asked, her tone guarded.

"They're different," Ron said, squinting at her. "Like, normal-sized. Straighter. I just noticed."

Hermione suddenly grinned mischievously, and Dahlia raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Well," Hermione began, "when I went to Madam Pomfrey to get them shrunk back after that hex Greengrass hit me with, she held up a mirror and told me to stop her when they were back to their normal size. So, I may have... let her go a bit further."

Her smile widened, and Dahlia let out a low whistle. "Look at you, Hermione! All polished up. Your parents are going to flip."

Hermione laughed. "They probably will. They're dentists, you know. They've always insisted on braces. But magic works so much faster."

Before Dahlia could reply, someone bumped into her, nearly sending her tumbling backward down the staircase. A strong arm shot out, steadying her by the waist.

"Whoa there," a thick, familiar accent said. "I am so sorry."

"Vlad!" Dahlia exclaimed, looking up at Vladimir Zhdanov. She brushed herself off, straightening. "It's fine."

"I was too busy admiring the moving stairs," Vladimir admitted sheepishly, his cheeks flushing. "I didn't see you."

"Maybe try watching where you're going next time," Ron snapped, stepping closer and glaring at Vladimir.

Vlad held up his hands in surrender. "Of course. I didn't mean to—uh—sorry again, Dahlia." With that, he quickly excused himself, disappearing up the stairs.

"Honestly, Ron," Dahlia said, turning on him with an exasperated look.

"What? I didn't do anything!" Ron said, frowning.

"You scared him off!" Dahlia huffed. "Can't you stop acting like a guard dog every time a boy talks to me?"

"Guard dog?" Ron spluttered. "I wasn't—"

"Yes, you were," Dahlia interrupted, rolling her eyes. "If this keeps up, you'll have me thinking you don't want me to have any fun."

Hermione smirked. "He's just jealous, Lia. Bet he wishes he had a handsome guy like that swooning over him too."

"I do not!" Ron protested, his ears turning red.

"Sure, you don't," Dahlia said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make sure I don't fall into the next guy who tries to talk to me." She swept past him, leaving Ron and Hermione behind, chuckling.

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with its usual holiday chaos, warm firelight flickering off the crimson and gold décor. Dahlia, Ron, and Hermione were tucked into a cozy corner near the fireplace, surrounded by scattered textbooks, half-eaten mince pies, and Ron's battered wizard chess set.

Hermione set down the quill she had been using to annotate her notes and looked over at Dahlia, her expression thoughtful. "Have you made any progress with the clue in your egg?" she asked, pushing her hair behind her ear.

Ron groaned, leaning back in his chair dramatically. "Oh, come on, Hermione! Lia's got ages to work it out. Don't badger her about it. Lia, fancy a game of chess instead?" He gestured at the board, already set up for a fresh match.

Dahlia smirked and leaned back casually, crossing her arms. "Ron's right, Hermione. The tournament isn't tomorrow. But, if it'll stop you worrying, I do have an idea about the clue. I just need to confirm it."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Really? What is it? Have you figured out the connection to—"

"Mione," Ron interrupted with an exaggerated groan. "Drop it, will you? Lia's sorted. Let her have a break. She doesn't need you turning into a walking, talking library right now."

Hermione scowled. "I'm just trying to help!"

"Sure you are," Dahlia said with a grin, grabbing a handful of Ron's chess pieces. "But Ron's also got a point. Holiday first, tournament later. Come on, Ron, let's see if you can beat me again."

Ron beamed. "Finally, someone with some sense. Right, you're white. I'll be black. Prepare to lose, Lia."

Hermione sighed and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Fine. I suppose I'll leave it alone. For now."

As Dahlia moved her first pawn, she glanced at Hermione with a teasing smile. "You could try relaxing for once, you know. I promise the world won't end if you take a break."

Hermione snorted but allowed herself a small smile. "Relaxing isn't exactly my strong suit."

"Well, maybe it should be," Dahlia quipped. "Otherwise, you'll turn into Professor McGonagall before we've even left school."

Ron chuckled, his knight smashing one of Dahlia's pawns with a decisive crunch. "Don't give her ideas. If she starts assigning homework over the holidays, I'm moving into the Burrow permanently."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her amusement. "Fine. Enjoy your little chess game. But don't come crying to me when you're scrambling to figure out the clue later, Lia."

Dahlia smirked, making her next move. "When have I ever scrambled for anything? Don't worry, Mione. I've got this."

As Ron's bishop took another of her pieces, he grinned triumphantly. "And I've got this game. Admit it, Lia, you're doomed."

"We'll see about that," Dahlia said, narrowing her eyes at the board. "I've got a strategy, you know."

"Is it called losing gracefully?" Ron teased, leaning forward.

Dahlia shot him a playful glare. "You'd better hope you win, Weasley, or you'll never hear the end of it."

Hermione chuckled softly, watching them bicker over the game. Despite her concerns about the tournament, it was hard not to enjoy these moments of simple, silly normalcy.

Dahlia awoke abruptly on Christmas morning, her sleep broken by an unnerving sensation of being watched. She opened her eyes groggily, only to find herself nose-to-nose with a pair of enormous, round, green eyes glowing in the darkness.

"Dobby!" she shrieked, scrambling back so quickly that she nearly tumbled out of her bed. "Don't do that!"

"Dobby is sorry, miss!" squeaked the house-elf, leaping backward with his long fingers clamped over his mouth. "Dobby only wanted to wish Dahlia Potter a Merry Christmas and bring her a present, miss! Dahlia Potter said Dobby could come and see her sometimes!"

Still clutching her chest as her heart raced, Dahlia exhaled slowly. "It's okay, Dobby," she said, regaining her composure. "Just—next time, maybe give me a nudge instead of hovering like a ghost."

Pulling back the curtains around her four-poster, she grabbed her glasses from the bedside table and slid them on. Her shout had roused the other girls in the dormitory. Parvati, Lavender, and Hermione peeked out from their hangings, tousled and bleary-eyed.

"Someone attacking you, Lia?" Parvati mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.

"No, it's just Dobby," Dahlia muttered. "Go back to bed."

But Lavender had already spotted the small mountain of presents at the foot of her bed. "Nah, forget sleep—presents!" she squealed.

Hermione sighed but sat up, brushing her messy curls from her face. "We're up now anyway," she said, glancing at her own pile of gifts.

Dahlia turned back to Dobby, who stood nervously beside her bed, clutching a small package wrapped in bright, mismatched paper. A tiny Christmas bauble hung jauntily from the loop on his tea-cozy hat.

"Can Dobby give Dahlia Potter her present?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of course, you can," Dahlia said with a smile. "But wait—I've got something for you too!"

She rummaged through her trunk, pulling out a pair of intricately embroidered socks she had bought during the last Hogsmeade weekend. "Sorry, I forgot to wrap them..." she said sheepishly.

Dobby gasped as though she had handed him a treasure chest. "Socks are Dobby's favorite clothes, miss!" he exclaimed, ripping off his mismatched socks and immediately pulling on the ones Dahlia had given him. "Miss is so kind! Dobby has seven socks now! But... oh no!" His large eyes widened in dismay as he examined them. "Dobby thinks there has been a mistake, Dahlia Potter—both socks are the same!"

Hermione, now fully awake and grinning, chuckled from her bed. "Lia, how could you let that happen?" she teased.

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Dobby. I'll do better next time!"

Hermione laughed and reached into her own pile. "Here, Dobby—have these. You can mix and match to your heart's content." She tossed him a pair of violet socks she had just unwrapped and added a small knitted hat she had made during her short-lived enthusiasm for S.P.E.W.

Dobby looked utterly overwhelmed, his eyes filling with tears. "Miss is so generous!" he squeaked. "So noble, so selfless—"

"They're just socks," Hermione said, turning pink but clearly pleased with his gratitude.

"Wow, Lia!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly, holding up a sleek pair of shoes she had just unwrapped. "These are gorgeous!"

Dahlia smirked. "I thought they'd go nicely with your dress robes for tonight."

"They're perfect," Hermione said, beaming.

Dobby now handed Dahlia his gift. She unwrapped it to reveal a pair of brightly colored socks, one red with broomsticks and the other green with Snitches.

"Dobby made them himself!" he said proudly. "With wool Dobby bought from his wages!"

"They're wonderful, Dobby," Dahlia said sincerely. "You're very talented."

"Miss is too kind!" Dobby bowed so deeply he nearly toppled over. "Dobby must go now, but he wishes Miss Dahlia the happiest of Christmases!" With a small pop, he disappeared.

Lavender blinked, still looking stunned. "You're really nice to that house-elf, Lia. Most wizards don't even talk to them like they're... people."

"Dobby's nice to me," Dahlia said with a shrug. "Why wouldn't I be nice back?" She grinned. "Now, let's get to the important stuff—presents!"

Dahlia dove eagerly into the pile of gifts at the foot of her bed, her face lighting up as she began unwrapping each one. A squeal of delight escaped her as she revealed an assortment of elegant pins, a sleek pair of shoes, and a collection of fascinating books from Sirius and Remus. Each gift bore their unique touch—practicality mixed with indulgence—and she felt a warm swell of gratitude for her godfather and her uncle.

Next, she picked up a package from Hermione and unwrapped it to find Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland. "Hermione, this is brilliant!" Dahlia exclaimed, flipping through the pages with growing excitement. "I've been meaning to learn more about the Holyhead Harpies."

"Thought you'd like it," Hermione said, smiling from her bed as she unwrapped one of her own gifts.

Lavender peeked over from her side. "You're so into Quidditch, Lia. Are you thinking of trying out professionally after school?"

Dahlia grinned. "Maybe. But one thing at a time—let's survive the Triwizard Tournament first."

She laughed as she moved on to the next gift: a bulging bag of Dungbombs. The tag read: From Ron. Dahlia rolled her eyes, chuckling. "Of course. Classic Ron."

"What did he get you?" Parvati asked, craning her neck.

"A bag of Dungbombs," Dahlia replied, holding it up. "He's nothing if not consistent."

"Well, at least it's...practical?" Lavender offered, giggling.

The next package caught Dahlia's eye as she noticed the familiar handwriting on the tag.

"Oooh, another one from Sirius!" she said eagerly, her fingers quickly tearing at the wrapping.

Inside was a small, intricately wrapped box, its contents cushioned with enchanted tissue paper. Dahlia lifted the lid to reveal a sleek, polished penknife with many delicate attachments designed to unlock any lock and undo any knot. It gleamed under the light, exuding both practicality and mischief.

"Now this is perfect," Dahlia murmured, running her fingers over the blade, admiring its craftsmanship. Her lips curved into a knowing grin. "Leave it to Sirius to send me something so useful... and just the right amount of rebellious."

Hermione, perched on her bed nearby, raised an eyebrow. "A penknife that can undo any lock? That's not just useful; it's practically an invitation for trouble."

"Exactly," Dahlia replied with a wink, holding it up to inspect the tiny inscriptions on its hilt. "Sirius knows me too well."

Lavender giggled from across the room. "Sounds like your godfather is determined to keep your life... interesting."

"Oh, he's got that covered," Dahlia said with a laugh, slipping the knife into its protective sheath. "But I'm not complaining."

She placed the box carefully on her trunk, already imagining the countless ways the penknife might come in handy—or get her into trouble.

"Sounds about right," Hermione remarked, smiling as she folded the wrapping from her own pile.

Hagrid's gift made Dahlia's eyes widen: a vast box of sweets that included all her favorites—Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, and Fizzing Whizbees. "Hagrid's a legend," Dahlia said, holding up the box. "Anyone want to share?"

"Not if I get another earwax bean," Parvati quipped, wrinkling her nose.

Mrs. Weasley's package brought a wave of warmth. Inside was a hand-knitted green sweater adorned with a dragon—clearly inspired by Charlie's tales about the Horntail—and a generous supply of homemade mince pies. Dahlia held up the sweater with a fond smile. "This is so thoughtful. Mrs. Weasley never misses."

Dahlia reached for a package from Hermione's parents. She unwrapped it to find a neatly stacked collection of Muggle romance and fantasy novels. She squealed in delight. "Hermione, your parents are brilliant! I've been dying to read these."

"They thought you'd enjoy a bit of Muggle escapism," Hermione said, grinning. "Just promise to lend them to me after, okay?"

"Deal," Dahlia said, placing the books carefully on her bedside table.

Finally, Dahlia unwrapped a small, beautifully wrapped box. Inside lay a stunning pair of gloves, exquisitely tailored and embroidered with delicate patterns, in a shade that perfectly matched her dress robes. Nestled inside was a neatly folded note written in elegant handwriting:

"For the ball—Sirius mentioned the color of your dress robes, and I thought these might suit you. Every young lady deserves to shine. – Auggie"

Dahlia smiled softly, touched by the thoughtful gesture. Augusta Longbottom, though known for her stern demeanor, had a knack for these heartfelt surprises.

"What's that, Lia?" Hermione asked, leaning over as she carefully folded the wrapping paper from her own gift.

Dahlia held up the gloves, her smile widening. "A gift from Augusta Longbottom—Neville's gran. She said Sirius told her the color of my dress robes, and she picked these out to match. Aren't they lovely?"

Hermione reached out to examine the embroidery, nodding appreciatively. "She has an excellent eye. These are beautiful and so elegant. You're lucky to have her thinking of you."

Lavender, from her bed, peeked over at the gloves. "Wow, those are stunning. Who knew Neville's gran was so fashionable? She's full of surprises."

Dahlia chuckled as she slipped one glove on, marveling at the perfect fit. "She is. People always think she's just intimidating, but she's got such a thoughtful side. She's a bit like Professor McGonagall that way—tough on the outside, but a heart of gold underneath."

Parvati grinned as she admired the gloves. "Well, Augusta Longbottom definitely knows how to pick a gift. Those are perfect for the ball."

"I'll have to write her a thank-you note," Dahlia said, carefully placing the gloves back in their box. "These are too nice not to show off tonight."

Lavender giggled. "Just don't let Ron anywhere near them. He'll probably spill pumpkin juice or something."

The girls burst into laughter, and Hermione added, "Or trip and land on you during the first dance. Make sure you stay out of his way!"

Dahlia shook her head, laughing. "I'll consider myself warned. But I'll wear these with pride—and hope I don't do anything clumsy myself."

The girls exchanged knowing looks before returning to their presents, the warmth of Christmas morning filling the dormitory.

Dahlia and Hermione met up with Ron in the common room, and together they made their way down to breakfast. The Great Hall was decked out in festive splendor—holly wreaths hung from the enchanted ceiling, and shimmering icicles adorned the towering Christmas trees. The three enjoyed a hearty meal while swapping stories about their presents, laughing at Fred and George's newest pranks, and dodging stray magical firecrackers from overzealous Gryffindors.

After breakfast, they returned to Gryffindor Tower, where the festive atmosphere continued. Students lounged around the common room, showing off their gifts or sampling the mountain of sweets that seemed to be everywhere. Fred handed Ron an exploding cracker, which nearly singed his eyebrows off, earning a fit of laughter from Dahlia and Hermione.

Around noon, they headed back to the Great Hall for a grand Christmas lunch. It was a feast worthy of Hogwarts, with at least a hundred roast turkeys, mountains of mashed potatoes, bowls of rich gravy, and steaming Christmas puddings. Cribbage's Wizarding Crackers added bursts of noise and magical surprises, from enchanted hats to miniature broomsticks zooming through the air.

"Honestly, I think I'll burst," Ron groaned, leaning back in his chair after his fourth helping of pudding.

"Only you could eat that much and still consider dessert," Hermione said with a smirk, eyeing the cracker crown perched lopsidedly on his head.

After lunch, the trio joined Fred, George, and Ginny on the snowy grounds. The landscape was pristine, save for the trampled paths left by Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students trekking to and from the castle. A snowball fight quickly ensued, with George proving to be a particularly ruthless opponent. Dahlia managed to hit Ron squarely in the back of the head, earning a loud yelp and a mock glare.

"Traitor!" Ron shouted, but his laughter betrayed him as he bent down to gather ammunition for revenge.

Hermione chose to sit on a bench nearby, wrapped in her cloak, watching the chaos unfold with a fond smile. She occasionally called out warnings to Dahlia when Fred tried sneaky tactics, but otherwise, she stayed out of the fray.

At around five o'clock, Hermione stood, brushing snow off her cloak. "I'm heading back to the dormitory to get ready for the ball," she announced.

"What, you need three hours?" Ron asked incredulously, which earned him a face full of snow courtesy of George.

"And you, Lia?" Ron called out as he shook snow from his hair. "Who are you going with?"

Dahlia smirked but didn't answer, instead throwing a snowball that clipped Ron's shoulder. "You'll see soon enough," she teased before linking arms with Hermione and heading back up to the castle.

With the snowball fight winding down, the others decided to head back to Gryffindor Tower to warm up. There was no Christmas tea that day, as the Yule Ball feast was set to replace it. By seven o'clock, the common room buzzed with excitement as students began preparing for the evening ahead.

In their dormitory, Hermione, Dahlia, Lavender, and Parvati had changed into their dress robes, the room buzzing with anticipation for the Yule Ball. Dahlia was the last to finish getting ready, and as she stepped out from behind her bed hangings, her dorm mates gasped audibly.

Dahlia wore a breathtaking scarlet gown with intricate gold embroidery that shimmered in the light. The off-the-shoulder design highlighted her graceful collarbones, while the fitted bodice cascaded into layers of golden lace and silk, reminiscent of falling stars. The delicate embellishments sparkled like constellations against the rich red fabric, and the golden accents reflected her heritage—the proud colors of both the Potter and Peverell families. Her dark hair was swept elegantly to one side, framing her face and leaving her emerald green eyes to stand out even more vividly.

"Merlin, Lia—you look beautiful," Hermione said, her voice filled with awe.

"Thanks, Mione," Dahlia replied, a soft smile lighting up her face. "So do you!" Hermione, dressed in flowing periwinkle-blue robes with her hair styled into an elegant twist (courtesy of Lavender), looked stunningly transformed.

"Whoever your date is, they're one lucky bloke," Lavender chimed in, adjusting one of her own golden earrings.

"I just know Nott is regretting getting himself engaged to Greengrass now," Parvati added, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she admired Dahlia's dress.

Hermione grinned and handed Dahlia a final touch—the pair of elegant gloves from Augusta Longbottom. The gloves were a perfect match, their golden embroidery mirroring the delicate patterns on her gown. "And now, you're ready."

Dahlia slipped them on and turned to the others with a playful smile. "We look absolutely beautiful, don't we?"

"Oh, we definitely do," Lavender said, posing dramatically in her magenta robes.

"Let's ask Colin to take a photo of us four," Dahlia suggested, her excitement contagious.

The group eagerly agreed, and they made their way down to the common room. The moment they descended the spiral staircase, all chatter stopped. Whispers rippled through the room as heads turned to stare.

"Merlin, Potter looks ethereal."
"Is that Granger? No way!"
"Granger cleans up nicely, doesn't she?"
"Potter is a whole other story, though..."

Dahlia ignored the murmurs, a slight blush on her cheeks as she spotted Colin Creevey fumbling with his camera. "Colin!" she called. "Can you take a photo of us?"

"Of course!" Colin said eagerly, already positioning himself as the four girls struck a pose near the fireplace. The camera flashed, and Colin beamed. "Perfect shot! You all look amazing."

Just then, Ginny appeared at the bottom of the staircase, her emerald green dress robes flowing behind her like water. She grinned broadly as she approached Hermione and Dahlia. "Merlin, you two look gorgeously beautiful!"

"And so do you, Ginny, dear," Dahlia said warmly, taking in the younger girl's stunning look.

Dahlia turned back to Colin. "Take a picture of us three now!" she requested, and Colin happily obliged as Ginny joined them. The three girls posed together, laughing and glowing with excitement as the flash captured their joyful moment.

The common room buzzed with excitement as students continued to admire the girls.

Just then, Neville and Ron descended from their dormitory with Dean and Seamus, who immediately greeted Lavender and Parvati.

"You look brilliant, Ginny," Neville said warmly as his eyes landed on the youngest Weasley.

"Thanks, Nev," Ginny replied, her cheeks glowing. "You look quite dashing yourself."

Neville chuckled before turning to Dahlia. His jaw dropped slightly as he took in her appearance. Her scarlet gown was an exquisite masterpiece, embroidered with golden accents that shimmered like stars under the flickering torchlight. The layered skirt cascaded in delicate waves, each fold adorned with tiny golden embellishments, making her look like a queen straight out of a fairytale.

"Sweet Godric, Lia, you've gone all out on your dress!" Neville exclaimed, his eyes wide with amazement.

Dahlia smirked, smoothing down the elegant fabric of her dress. "Well, I am Dahlia Potter and a Triwizard Champion. It's only right I outshine everyone tonight."

"Only you, Lia. Only you," Neville said fondly, shaking his head as he offered his arm to Ginny. "Come on, let's head to the Great Hall." Ginny linked her arm with Neville's, flashing a grin at Dahlia before they disappeared through the portrait hole.

Ron, wearing sleek new robes gifted by Sirius, approached Dahlia and Hermione. He stared at them, his mouth slightly open.

"You two look... absolutely stunning," he said, his voice a little breathless.

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said, her cheeks turning slightly pink as she adjusted the flowing skirt of her periwinkle-blue robes.

"You look dashing yourself," Dahlia said with a smile, nodding at Ron's outfit.

"Shall we go? I bet Pansy's already waiting in the Great Hall, and you know how she hates to wait," Dahlia teased, her emerald-green eyes sparkling mischievously as she caught Ron stealing glances at Hermione.

"Right—of course," Ron stammered, snapping out of his trance.

Hermione and Dahlia each linked an arm with Ron, guiding him out of the common room. Fred passed them on the way out, winking at Dahlia with a cheeky grin.

The entrance hall was buzzing with excitement. Students milled about in their finest robes, many searching for their dates. The room sparkled with soft light as Fleur Delacour floated past in a stunning silver-gray satin gown, arm-in-arm with Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain.

Ron slouched slightly behind Dahlia, clearly hoping Fleur wouldn't notice him. As soon as she passed, he stood upright and tried to act nonchalant.

"Save me a dance, both of you," Ron said to Dahlia and Hermione with a hopeful grin.

"Of course," Dahlia said, giving him a playful nudge.

"I have to go find my date now," Hermione said, excusing herself with a smile before disappearing into the crowd.

Ron turned to Dahlia. "You're not going to leave me too, are you?"

"Of course not," Dahlia replied, smirking. "My date's already on his way."

Right on cue, Vladimir Zhdanov, dressed impeccably in Durmstrang's traditional red robes, strode confidently toward them.

"Dahlia," Vladimir greeted her, his voice smooth, his gaze warm as he took in her radiant appearance.

"Vlad," Dahlia replied, her smile softening as she stepped closer.

"You look breathtaking," he said, his accent thick and his tone sincere.

"And you look quite handsome yourself," Dahlia responded, her voice light but genuine.

Meanwhile, a group of Slytherins emerged from the dungeons. Draco Malfoy led the way, his black velvet robes with a high collar giving him a regal—if slightly vicar-like—appearance. On his arm was Astoria Greengrass, who wore an ethereal pale green gown with delicate silver embroidery and flowing sleeves, making her look as though she had stepped out of an enchanted forest.

Behind them, Blaise Zabini walked with a pale blonde girl who looked like a softer, more graceful version of Malfoy. She was dressed in a pale blue gown that shimmered like moonlight, her every step exuding elegance. Pansy Parkinson followed in a striking burgundy dress, the deep color accentuating her dark hair and sharp features. The layered fabric and delicate lace of her gown gave her a commanding presence, and her confidence made her beauty even more pronounced.

Ron immediately lit up when he spotted Pansy. He descended a few steps and offered his hand to her with an uncharacteristically formal gesture.

"Parkinson... you look—beautiful," Ron said, his voice a bit awkward but entirely sincere.

Pansy's lips curved into a faint, amused smile. "Thank you, Weasley. You're looking rather dashing yourself," she replied, taking his hand.

Just then, Theodore Nott appeared at the top of the stairs with Daphne Greengrass, both looking impeccably dressed. Dahlia's smile faltered as her gaze landed on them, her jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Professor McGonagall's crisp voice called out, "Champions over here, please!"

Dahlia turned to Ron and Pansy with a small grin. "See you two in a minute. Don't get into too much trouble without me."

Pansy rolled her eyes, her burgundy dress glinting in the flickering candlelight. "Hurry up, Potter. I refuse to spend the whole evening with just Weasley for conversation."

"Charming as ever, Parkinson," Dahlia shot back with a smirk, giving Ron a wink before turning and heading toward the other champions.

The crowd parted like waves to let them through, whispers rippling among the students. Dahlia noticed a few jealous glares—particularly from Daphne Greengrass and the gaggle of Krum's fan club—but she just straightened her shoulders and tossed her hair back, letting her scarlet and gold gown catch the light.

She joined the other champions as Professor McGonagall positioned them near the doors. Fleur and Roger Davies stood closest, Roger looking utterly dazed as Fleur spoke to him in low, melodic tones. Cedric and Cho stood a little farther back, their chemistry palpable, while Viktor Krum waited silently with Hermione, his dark eyes scanning the crowd.

Dahlia grinned slyly at Hermione. "I can't wait to see Ron's face when he sees you with Krum. He might actually combust."

Hermione flushed, but her lips curved into a small smile. "You're terrible."

"Terribly honest," Dahlia quipped, her emerald-green eyes sparkling mischievously.

At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall opened, and a hushed silence fell as the champions prepared to walk in. Professor McGonagall instructed them to form pairs, and Vladimir Zhdanov appeared at Dahlia's side, offering her his arm with a polite bow.

"Ready to enchant the crowd?" he asked smoothly, his accent thick but his tone teasing.

"I was born ready," Dahlia replied sassily, taking his arm as they began their procession into the Great Hall.

The Hall was breathtaking. Silver frost coated the walls, and garlands of mistletoe and ivy intertwined beneath the enchanted ceiling. The hundred smaller tables glowed with lantern light, casting a magical atmosphere across the room. As they walked to the top table, applause erupted, the crowd's enthusiasm feeding Dahlia's confidence.

At the top table, they were seated with the judges. Vladimir pulled out Dahlia's chair for her, earning a nod of approval from Dumbledore, while Percy looked put out by the attention she was receiving.

Percy wasted no time announcing his presence. "I've been promoted," he said smugly, barely waiting for Dahlia to sit down.

"To the position of Most Boring Wizard in Britain?" Dahlia quipped under her breath, earning a poorly stifled laugh from Cedric.

"I'm now Mr. Crouch's personal assistant," Percy continued as if he hadn't heard her, "and I'm here representing him tonight."

"How thrilling," Dahlia said dryly, pretending to stifle a yawn as she picked up her menu. "Tell me, Percy, do you have a badge for that too?"

Vladimir chuckled quietly beside her. "You are very... sharp-tongued tonight, Dahlia."

"I prefer the term 'witty,'" she replied with a grin, scanning the menu.

As the plates began magically filling with their requested dishes, Dahlia turned her attention to Krum, who was deep in conversation with Hermione.

"Viktor," she said, leaning slightly forward, "Hermione's teaching you how to pronounce her name? Careful, she might make you write it a hundred times as punishment if you don't get it right."

Krum chuckled, his serious demeanor softening. "Herm-own-ninny is... difficult to say," he admitted.

"Close enough," Hermione said with a grin, though her cheeks were pink.

Vladimir leaned toward Dahlia, his voice low. "Krum has quite the reputation back at Durmstrang. I did not expect him to be so..." He paused, searching for the word.

"Awkward?" Dahlia offered with a smirk.

"...Charming," Vladimir corrected, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"You Durmstrang boys are full of surprises," Dahlia teased, sipping her pumpkin juice.

Karkaroff interrupted their banter with a forced laugh, his cold eyes narrowing as he addressed Krum. "Now, Viktor, remember—our school has a reputation to uphold."

Dumbledore, ever the peacemaker, turned the conversation to a humorous story about Hogwarts' hidden chambers. Dahlia snorted into her goulash at the mention of a room filled with chamber pots, earning a disapproving glare from Percy.

When dinner ended, Dumbledore rose and invited everyone to stand. The Weird Sisters began to play, their wild rhythms filling the Hall as the lanterns dimmed and the champions were ushered to the dance floor.

"Shall we?" Vladimir asked, extending his hand to Dahlia.

"Lead the way, Prince Charming," Dahlia replied, placing her hand in his.

Their first steps were smooth and precise, thanks to Neville's patient lessons in the Gryffindor common room. Vladimir was an excellent dancer, guiding Dahlia effortlessly across the floor as her gown flowed like liquid fire behind her.

"You're quite good at this," Dahlia admitted, raising an eyebrow.

"I have to be. At Durmstrang, you either learn to dance, or you spend the night sulking in the corner," Vladimir replied with a smirk.

As they twirled, Dahlia caught sight of Krum dancing with Hermione nearby. Krum gave Vladimir a nod of acknowledgment.

"Viktor," Vladimir called over the music as they passed, "you're lucky to have such a talented partner. Don't let her outshine you."

Krum chuckled. "I vill try, but it is not easy."

Dahlia grinned at Hermione. "Be careful, Hermy-own-ninny. He might recruit you for his fan club next."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "I think I'll pass on that."

The dance floor soon filled with students. Neville and Ginny spun gracefully nearby, while Fred Weasley attempted a dramatic tango with Angelina Johnson. Even Dumbledore and Madame Maxime were waltzing, their stark height difference adding a comedic charm to their movements.

"Shall we make them jealous?" Vladimir asked, spinning Dahlia with a flourish.

"Please, they're already jealous," Dahlia said confidently, her emerald eyes glittering. "But by all means, let's give them a show."

Vladimir grinned, and the two moved in perfect sync, drawing several admiring—and envious—looks from the crowd. Dahlia caught a glimpse of Pansy glaring daggers at Daphne Greengrass, while Ron awkwardly tried to keep up with Pansy's sharp movements.

"Your Gryffindor friend," Vladimir said, nodding toward Ron, "seems to be having trouble."

"He'll survive," Dahlia replied breezily, her smirk widening. "Barely."

As the night wore on, Dahlia felt a rare sense of ease, twirling and laughing under the enchanted ceiling. For once, she wasn't just "the Girl Who Lived" or a Triwizard champion—she was simply Dahlia, owning the dance floor like she owned the world.

After a while, Vladimir leaned toward Dahlia, his voice low and teasing. "Would you like to rest for a moment? I don't want to hog you on the dance floor."

Dahlia smirked. "Hog away—I can keep going all night. But if you need to rest those royal Durmstrang feet, who am I to stop you?"

Vladimir laughed, offering his arm. "Let's find a table, before I regret asking."

Once seated, Vladimir excused himself to fetch drinks. No sooner had he disappeared into the crowd than Pansy and Ron approached. Ron, still a little awkward in his dress robes, looked less like a Yule Ball guest and more like he was sneaking into a formal event he hadn't been invited to.

Dahlia's emerald-green eyes gleamed as she greeted them. "Well, well, look who's here! How's it going with you two? Still standing, or did Pansy drag you into submission?"

"It was surprisingly great," Ron admitted, straightening his robes awkwardly.

"'Surprisingly' great?" Pansy echoed with a huff, placing a hand on her hip. "Ron, darling, I practically carried you on the dance floor. The least you could do is give me full credit."

Ron bristled, but his ears turned bright red. "I wasn't that bad!"

"Weren't you, though?" Dahlia asked, feigning deep thought. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like Pansy was towing a reluctant troll."

Ron groaned. "Why do I even talk to you?"

Before he could say more, Blaise Zabini sauntered over, his air of effortless confidence intact, with Luna Lovegood on his arm. Luna's ethereal silver robes shimmered under the lantern light, and her radish earrings swung gently as she walked.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow, her smirk growing. "Well, well, Blaise. Did you Imperio this poor girl into agreeing to be your date, or was it just good old-fashioned blackmail?"

Blaise rolled his eyes, though a small grin tugged at his lips. "I beg your pardon, Dahlia, but I have no need for such theatrics. Unlike some, I have charm."

Luna tilted her head, her dreamy voice cutting in. "Oh, I assure you, I came willingly. Though I did consider the possibility he might be a disguised nargle. But he's been quite well-behaved."

Dahlia blinked at Luna before breaking into a laugh. "Well met, Heiress Lovegood. You've got a spine—and imagination—to keep up with Zabini."

Luna gave a small curtsy. "Well met, Heiress Potter. Please call me Luna."

"Only if you call me Dahlia. Or Lia, if you prefer."

"Then Lia it is," Luna replied with a serene smile.

At that moment, Hermione appeared, looking flustered but determined as she slipped into the empty chair beside Dahlia.

"Hi," Dahlia said, her voice dripping with knowing amusement.

"Hi," Hermione replied, trying to act casual.

Ron, on the other hand, looked anything but. "Hermione! Why didn't you tell me Krum was your date?!"

Hermione blinked, startled. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"Yes!" Ron exclaimed. "What's wrong is that you didn't get me his autograph!"

Dahlia burst out laughing, leaning back in her chair. "Oh, Merlin's socks! You're jealous not of Krum, but of the opportunity for a signed keepsake?"

Ron ignored her. "Hermione, you've been sitting with him all night, and you didn't think to ask once?!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Right on cue, Vladimir returned with drinks, trailed by Viktor Krum. The Bulgarian Seeker nodded politely to the group as he handed Hermione her drink.

Dahlia nudged Ron with a grin. "Go on, Weasley. Seize the moment before you pass out from sheer fanboying."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Viktor, this is my friend Ron. Ron, Viktor."

"Hello," Viktor said in his deep, accented voice.

Ron's face turned beet red. "Uh—hi. Um—would you mind—could you—" He fumbled in his robes, pulling out a quill and parchment. "Sign this? Please?"

Krum shrugged, taking the quill and parchment. He signed his name with practiced ease before handing it back.

"Thanks! Oh, thank you so much!" Ron said, clutching the autograph like it was gold.

Dahlia shook her head, smirking. "Honestly, Ron, you're a piece of work." She turned to Vladimir, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Vlad, you don't mind if I steal Ron for a dance, do you? He asked me for a dance earlier, I intend to keep my promise to give him one."

Vladimir chuckled. "By all means, Dahlia. Just don't step on his toes too hard."

Dahlia grabbed Ron's arm, dragging him toward the dance floor.

"Dahlia, I'm not sure about this!" Ron protested, trying to dig in his heels.

"Stop whining, Weasley," Dahlia said, rolling her eyes. "You're the one who asked me for a dance earlier. And if you're worried about embarrassing yourself, remember: Neville and I taught you. You'll be fine."

"I don't know why I agreed to those lessons," Ron muttered as Dahlia placed his hands in position.

"You agreed because you didn't want to trip over Pansy's feet all night," Dahlia shot back. "Now hush and let me lead."

To Ron's surprise, the dance went smoothly. Dahlia guided him with ease, even throwing in a playful twirl that left him grinning.

"See?" Dahlia said with a smirk. "You're not half-bad when you stop overthinking."

"Maybe you and Neville are just a good teachers," Ron admitted, surprising even himself.

"Obviously," Dahlia replied with mock arrogance. "You'd have been a complete disaster without us."

By the time the song ended, Ron was laughing, his earlier nerves forgotten. Dahlia patted his shoulder. "Not bad, Weasley. You might even survive the rest of the night without embarrassing yourself."

As they stepped off the dance floor, Neville appeared, looking shy but resolute. He cleared his throat, offering his hand to Dahlia.

"Um, Dahlia? Would you like to dance?"

Her teasing demeanor softened, and she took his hand with a warm smile. "Of course, Neville. How could I say no to my favorite dance instructor?"

As the music swelled, Neville led Dahlia across the floor, his movements careful and precise.

"You've gotten so good at this," Neville said, his voice filled with pride.

Dahlia grinned, spinning gracefully under his arm. "Well, you're the one who taught me. I'm just reaping the benefits."

Neville chuckled, his confidence growing with every step. "Still, I never thought I'd be dancing with one of the Triwizard champions."

"Never underestimate yourself, Longbottom," Dahlia said, her emerald-green eyes sparkling. "You've got more skill and courage than half the people in this room."

Neville blushed but smiled, the two of them moving in perfect harmony as the night carried on.

Dahlia had just stepped off the dance floor with Neville, laughing softly at his sheepish apology for stepping on her foot one too many times. Her heart felt light—until she turned and bumped directly into someone.

"Nott." Her voice came out sharper than she intended, her emerald-green eyes narrowing.

Theodore's lips curved into a small, almost hesitant smile. "Cara, dance with me. Please." His voice was quiet, nearly drowned out by the Weird Sisters as they began another song, but there was a rawness to his tone that made her pause.

Dahlia blinked, confusion and irritation flashing across her face. "Why would I—"

Before she could finish, Theo took her hand and led her firmly to the center of the dance floor. The whispers began almost instantly, rippling across the room as Hogwarts students noticed them together.

"Won't your fiancée hate this?" Dahlia hissed, trying to wrench her hand free, but his grip was steady, resolute.

Theo's jaw tightened, but his tone remained calm, if a little bitter. "I don't give a damn about what Daphne thinks."

Dahlia scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, how noble of you. You know, it's one thing to break my heart, Theo, but it's another to drag me onto the dance floor and force me to dance with you. For the record, I don't want to dance with you." Her words were cutting, but her voice trembled, betraying the hurt she was trying so hard to mask.

"Why?" Theo asked, his gaze burning into hers. "Because you'd rather be cozying up with that Durmstrang boy?" He rolled his eyes, his tone laced with jealousy.

"Wow," Dahlia said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You've got some nerve, Nott. Do you know what you sound like right now? Let me remind you: you're the one who got engaged to Daphne Greengrass and left me feeling like a fool all summer. So don't you dare act jealous."

Theo flinched but didn't let go. "Dahlia, I—"

"No," she interrupted, her voice breaking slightly as anger and heartbreak warred within her. "You don't get to explain. You don't get to apologize. Do you have any idea what it was like? What you did to me? I spent months convincing myself I wasn't enough for you."

Theo's voice softened, and the edge in his expression melted away. "Cara... I'm sorry."

Dahlia froze, the words she wanted to say caught in her throat. For a moment, there was nothing but the music and the whispers around them. Finally, she looked him in the eye, her expression conflicted.

"You know, Theo... I've forgiven you," she said, her voice quieter now but no less intense. "And I hate that I've forgiven you because what you did hurt me. But as much as I try, I can't seem to hate you because—" Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. "Because I love you."

The song ended. Dahlia took a shaky breath and turned, walking swiftly off the dance floor.

"Cara! Wait, Cara!" Theo's voice echoed down the hallway as he ran after her.

Dahlia stopped abruptly, her back to him. "What do you want, Theo?" she snapped, her voice raw with emotion as tears blurred her vision. "What is it you came to tell me? That I'm stupid for loving you? Because I already know, Theo! I'm stupid, I'm pathetic, and I hate myself for it!"

"Dahlia—"

"No!" she shouted, her hands clenched into fists. "You don't get it. You don't get to waltz back into my life and act like nothing happened! You made me believe I could be loved, that I was worth something after everything I've been through. And then you shattered me. So, congratulations, Theo. You broke me. I hope you're proud."

Her voice cracked, and tears spilled down her cheeks. Theo took a step closer, his own voice hoarse. "I'm not proud, Lia. I'm ashamed. You think this was easy for me?"

Dahlia let out a bitter laugh. "Easy? Oh, you poor thing. Was it hard for you, Theo? Hard to shatter someone and then go running off to your new bride-to-be?"

"I don't care about Daphne!" Theo shouted, his calm façade finally breaking. "Do you understand that? I don't care! I never wanted her—I wanted you!"

"Then why?" Dahlia demanded, her voice trembling. "Why did you get engaged to Greengrass?"

Theo's shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand through his hair, his voice quieter now. "Because I didn't have a choice. When I got home this summer, my father told me I was getting engaged to Daphne. He forbade me from sending you owls, from even thinking about you. I didn't want this, Dahlia. I never wanted to hurt you."

He stepped closer, cupping her chin gently and tilting her face up to meet his eyes. "You have to believe me, cara. I love you, Dahlia." he said, his words raw and heartfelt.

"I've loved you for so long that I don't even know how not to. You bewitched me from the moment I met you—and no, not when we bumped into each other in Flourish and Blotts last year. It was before that."

Dahlia blinked, confused. "What are you talking about? I don't remember that."

Theo's smile was faint, bittersweet. "It was at King's Cross. Our first year. You don't remember, do you?"

Her expression softened, confusion giving way to uncertainty. "I don't," she admitted softly.

"Of course you don't," Theo said with a sad smile. "You're The Girl Who Lived. Why would you notice some Death Eater's son skulking in the background? A boy who happened to be friends with Malfoy, someone who spent the last three years antagonizing you. Why would you ever remember someone like me?"

"Theo..." Dahlia's voice was barely a whisper now, her resolve crumbling under the weight of his words.

"I love you, Lia," Theo said, his voice breaking. "I've loved you for years. And no arranged marriage, no family decree, nothing is going to change that."

Dahlia stared at him, her emotions swirling in a chaotic storm. Before she could stop herself, she grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him into a kiss.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Theo froze in surprise before melting into the kiss, his arms wrapping around her like he was afraid to let go.

But then reality crashed back down, and Dahlia pulled away abruptly, her hand flying to her lips. "Theo... this is wrong. I can't—I'm sorry."

"Lia, please," Theo said, his voice desperate. "Stay with me. We'll figure this out. I'll end the engagement—I'll do whatever it takes."

Dahlia shook her head, her tears returning. "As tempting as that sounds, Theo, I can't. Not when you're still engaged to her. Not when everything is so... complicated."

"Dahlia, I love you," Theo said again, his voice breaking.

She looked at him, her heart shattering all over again. "I love you too. But we can't. I'm sorry."

And with that, she turned and walked away, her tears falling freely as she made her way back to the Great Hall, leaving Theo standing alone in the empty corridor, his heart in pieces.

Dahlia's vision was blurred with tears as she made her way back to the Great Hall. Each step felt heavier than the last, her chest tight with emotion. She wasn't even looking where she was going when she collided into someone. Strong hands steadied her, and she looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing in front of her, Astoria Greengrass by his side.

"Dahlia? Are you alright?" Draco asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle as he took in her tear-streaked face.

Dahlia shook her head, biting her lip to keep from breaking down again. But the dam was already cracking, and her tears began to fall faster. Without thinking, Draco awkwardly pulled her into a hug. It was stiff at first, but as Dahlia's shoulders started to shake, he softened, his hand hesitantly patting her back.

"Was it Nott?" Draco asked quietly, his voice measured, lacking its usual edge.

Dahlia hesitated, then gave a small nod against his shoulder, her tears wetting the fabric of his robes.

Draco's grip tightened ever so slightly, and for a moment, he said nothing. Finally, he let out a slow breath. "That... makes sense," he said, his tone careful, almost hesitant.

Astoria, standing a few steps away, glanced between them, her expression soft but conflicted. "It's complicated, Dahlia," she murmured. "You know Theo. He doesn't want this. Not really."

Dahlia pulled back slightly from Draco, her emerald-green eyes glassy but filled with anger. "He doesn't want this? Then why isn't he fighting it, Astoria?" Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she pressed trembling fingers to her lips. "Why did he let his father—why did he let me go like I was nothing?"

Astoria's expression crumbled, sympathy filling her gaze. "I don't think you were nothing to him," she said softly. "You know you weren't. But you also know how our families work. You know how trapped we all are sometimes. He's..." She sighed, searching for the right words. "He's probably hurting as much as you are."

Draco shifted, his jaw tightening briefly before he spoke, his voice measured and thoughtful. "Theo's not a bad guy, Dahlia," he said quietly. "You know he isn't. He's my friend, and I know he cared about you—he cares about you." He hesitated, his silver eyes flickering with a mix of frustration and understanding. "But Theo... he's in a tough spot. He loves his father, Dahlia. And this—what his father did—it's the first time he's gone behind Theo's back like this. Theo doesn't know how to handle it, not without walking away from his family entirely."

Draco glanced down, his voice softening as if weighing whether to reveal more. "He almost did it, you know. Almost ran away. But he couldn't go through with it. He couldn't leave his father behind, not completely." He exhaled, the tension in his jaw returning. "That doesn't make it right, and it doesn't make it okay, but... it's not as simple as him just not wanting to fight for you."

Dahlia's breath hitched, and the sharp ache in her chest finally erupted into anger. "There's always a choice," she snapped, her voice trembling. "He chose to let me go. He didn't even try, Draco. If he cared about me, if he loved me—" Her voice broke, and tears spilled freely down her cheeks. She clenched her fists, her frustration boiling over into raw pain. "He just... gave up."

Astoria stepped forward, her voice calm yet full of compassion. "He didn't just give up, Dahlia. He's hurting too—I know he is. But love doesn't always fix everything. Sometimes fear wins. Sometimes family wins. And yes, he failed you, and you have every right to be angry. But it doesn't mean he doesn't care."

Astoria hesitated, her expression softening further, guilt flickering in her blue eyes. "And... I'm sorry, Dahlia. For Daphne. For what she said, for how she's acted. She's my sister, but that doesn't excuse her cruelty. I know she made everything harder for you, and you didn't deserve any of it." Her voice wavered slightly, but she straightened, determined. "She was wrong, and I won't defend her. You deserved so much better—from her, from Theo, from everyone."

Dahlia's chest heaved as she looked between them, her anger and sorrow twisting together in her heart. She saw the conflict in Draco's expression, the genuine regret in Astoria's eyes, and felt the full weight of her heartbreak. "It's not fair," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's not fair that I'm the one left to pick up the pieces while he..." She stopped, her voice breaking completely, and buried her face in her hands.

Draco hesitated only a moment before stepping closer, resting a steadying hand on her arm. "You don't have to pick them up alone," he said gently. His tone held an uncharacteristic warmth, his usual sharpness softened by sincerity. "We're here for you, Dahlia. Astoria, your friends, and I—we've all got you."

Astoria nodded, her voice firm yet tender. "You're not alone in this, Dahlia. You'll get through it. And when you're ready, you'll figure out what you deserve—because it's so much more than this."

Dahlia let out a shaky breath, her tears still falling, but the knot in her chest loosened just slightly. The pain was still there, sharp and relentless, but the presence of her friends made it feel just a little less heavy. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and leaned into their support, letting herself be held in their warmth and care.

The heavy doors of the Great Hall creaked open, the sound reverberating through the corridor. Hermione and Ron emerged, their faces tight with concern. It only took them a moment to assess the scene—Dahlia leaning unsteadily against Draco, her face streaked with tears.

"Lia," Hermione said softly, her tone full of worry as she stepped closer. Dahlia's resolve crumbled entirely at the sound of her friend's voice. She pulled away from Draco without hesitation and stumbled into Hermione's arms.

Hermione caught her, holding her tightly as Dahlia buried her face in her shoulder, sobs shaking her small frame. "It's okay. I've got you," Hermione murmured, stroking her back in soothing, rhythmic circles. "We're here."

Ron, standing a few paces behind, turned his sharp gaze to Draco, his stance immediately defensive. "What the bloody hell happened?" he demanded, his voice low but simmering with anger.

Draco's usual smug expression was nowhere to be found. He looked almost weary, his sharp features softened by a rare, reluctant empathy. "Nott," he said curtly, glancing at Dahlia.

Ron's face darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "That git," he growled, his tone vibrating with barely restrained fury. "I swear, if I see him—"

"Ron," Hermione interjected firmly, her voice quiet but commanding. "Not now."

Ron bit back whatever angry retort was forming on his lips and exhaled heavily through his nose. His anger didn't fade, but he nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He stepped closer to Dahlia, his expression softening as he took in her tear-streaked face and trembling form.

"Come on, Lia," Ron said, his voice gentler now. "Let's get you back to the Tower, yeah? You shouldn't be out here like this."

Dahlia didn't respond, her sobs muffled against Hermione's shoulder. Hermione met Ron's gaze over Dahlia's head and gave a small nod. "She needs to rest," Hermione said quietly, glancing back at Draco.

"Malfoy," she said, her tone polite but edged with an unspoken challenge, "can you let our dates know we're leaving?"

Draco opened his mouth, his usual sarcastic remark undoubtedly at the ready, but the sight of Dahlia stopped him short. For a brief moment, he seemed to struggle with himself, but then his shoulders dropped, and he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine," he muttered, running a hand through his platinum hair. "I'll tell them."

Ron didn't wait for any more input. "I've got her," he said, stepping up beside Hermione and gently slipping an arm around Dahlia. "Come on, Lia."

Hermione guided Dahlia to lean on Ron, who scooped her up without hesitation. She clung to him, her sobs quieter now but still shaking her.

"Thank you," Hermione murmured to Draco before following Ron and Dahlia down the corridor.

Draco watched them go, the faintest flicker of something almost like guilt crossing his features before he turned back toward the Great Hall. As the Gryffindors disappeared around the corner, only the echo of Dahlia's broken sobs remained in the cold stone hallway.

The silence between them as they climbed the stairs was heavy, broken only by Dahlia's quiet crying and the occasional creak of the ancient castle steps. Ron's jaw was set, his protective instincts flaring with every shudder that passed through Dahlia.

When they reached the Fat Lady's portrait, the guardian gave them a curious glance that quickly softened as her eyes landed on Dahlia. "Oh dear," she said sympathetically. "Password?"

"Caput Draconis," Hermione replied briskly, not even pausing as the portrait swung open to reveal the warm glow of the Gryffindor common room.

The space was nearly deserted, with most students still at the ball or fast asleep. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering golden light over the cozy armchairs and thick rugs.

Ron carried Dahlia to the couch nearest the fire and gently set her down. She curled up immediately, pulling her knees to her chest as fresh tears began to spill down her cheeks. Hermione knelt beside her, brushing stray strands of hair from her face.

"Do you want some water?" Hermione asked softly, but Dahlia shook her head, burying her face in her hands.

Hermione crouched beside her, placing a comforting hand on Dahlia's knee. "Lia," she began softly, "do you want to talk about it?"

Dahlia shook her head, wiping at her eyes with trembling hands. "Not right now," she whispered. "I just... I just need a moment."

Ron plopped down on the couch opposite them, his expression torn between frustration and concern. He ran a hand through his hair, his freckled face screwed up in thought. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but... bloody hell, Lia, that git doesn't deserve to make you cry like this."

"Ron," Hermione chided gently, giving him a look. "Let her process."

"I'm just saying," Ron grumbled, his ears turning pink. "It's not right. You're—you're Dahlia Potter. You've got people who care about you. You don't need someone like Nott messing with your head."

A ghost of a smile tugged at Dahlia's lips, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thanks, Ron," she said softly.

Hermione straightened up, settling into the chair beside Dahlia. "You're allowed to feel however you need to feel," she said, her voice firm but kind. "But just remember, you're not alone. We're here for you."

Dahlia let out a shaky sigh, her gaze fixed on the flames dancing in the fireplace. "It's just... I thought I was prepared for this," she admitted quietly. "I knew about Theo and Daphne, but hearing him say he loves me—it just made everything so much harder."

Hermione reached over, taking Dahlia's hand and squeezing it gently. "Feelings don't come with an instruction manual, Lia. And love... love's one of the messiest feelings there is."

Ron made a face. "Yeah, no kidding," he muttered, earning a light nudge from Hermione.

For a while, they sat in silence, the warmth of the fire wrapping around them like a protective cocoon. Dahlia leaned back in her chair, her eyes drifting shut as the exhaustion of the night caught up with her.

Hermione exchanged a look with Ron, who nodded toward the blanket draped over the back of the couch. Quietly, he grabbed it and handed it to Hermione, who carefully tucked it around Dahlia.

"Thanks," Dahlia murmured, her voice barely audible. She opened her eyes briefly to give them a faint smile before closing them again.

Ron stood, stretching awkwardly. "I'll grab us some tea from the kitchens," he offered gruffly, clearly wanting to help in any way he could.

"Good idea," Hermione said softly. "I'll stay with her."

As Ron headed out, Hermione settled into her chair again, keeping watch over Dahlia as the firelight flickered. For the first time that evening, a sense of calm began to settle over the common room.

Dahlia stirred slightly in her chair, her emerald eyes fluttering open as the weight of the blanket and the crackling warmth of the fire brought her back to the present. She glanced at Hermione, who was watching her with a gentle expression, and let out a soft sigh.

"I'm sorry," Dahlia said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hermione tilted her head, frowning. "For what?"

"For ruining your night," Dahlia murmured, avoiding Hermione's gaze. "You were both supposed to be having fun at the ball, and instead, you're here... babysitting me."

Hermione's brows knitted together, and she scooted closer to Dahlia, taking her hand. "Lia," she said firmly, "you didn't ruin anything. You're our best friend. If you need us, we're going to be here. No questions, no conditions."

Dahlia gave a weak smile, but her eyes still glimmered with guilt. "But—"

"No buts," Hermione interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Ron and I care about you. We'd rather be here making sure you're okay than dancing the night away pretending we're not worried."

At that moment, Ron returned from the kitchens carrying a tray with a teapot, three mugs, and a plate of biscuits. He set it down on the small table beside the fireplace and flopped onto the couch. "What's she on about now?" he asked, looking between them.

"She's apologizing for 'ruining' our night," Hermione said, crossing her arms and giving Ron a pointed look.

Ron snorted, pouring a mug of tea and handing it to Dahlia. "Lia, listen to me," he said, his tone blunt but kind. "You didn't ruin anything. You're our friend. If someone hurts you, we're going to have your back. That's how this works."

Dahlia looked between the two of them, her chest tightening with emotion. "I don't deserve you two," she said softly.

"Of course you do," Hermione said with a warm, reassuring smile. "And honestly, it's not like you pulled us away from the perfect evening. Viktor's great to talk to, but once Ron got him started on Quidditch—well, let's just say it turned into a one-sided strategy meeting. It's adorable seeing him so passionate, but I couldn't relate to a single thing they were saying."

"Oi!" Ron protested, then quickly softened. "Fine, maybe I did take it too far, but—" he shifted his gaze to Dahlia, his voice turning gentler—"Pansy's great company, really. But she'd understand, Dahlia. She'd be the first to say that I should be here with you. She's your friend too, after all."

Dahlia's lips curved into a soft smile, and a gentle laugh escaped her. Some of the tension in her shoulders began to melt away as she looked at her two closest friends. "Thank you," she said, her voice earnest and heartfelt. "Really. For everything."

"Always," Hermione said, reaching over to squeeze Dahlia's hand. Ron leaned back, resting an arm along the back of the couch, his expression casual but kind.

"Yeah, what she said," Ron added with a grin. "And for the record, Viktor can wait, and Pansy will survive besides we know she's off with Nott too. You're our priority here."

Dahlia's chest warmed at their words, the weight of the evening lifting ever so slightly. "I don't know what I'd do without you two."

"That's what we're here for," Hermione said, squeezing her hand again.

Ron handed her a biscuit with a grin. "Now, drink your tea and eat something. You'll feel better. And tomorrow, if you want, we can figure out how to hex Nott's shoes to squeak every time he takes a step."

Dahlia let out a genuine laugh, warmth finally breaking through the cold ache in her chest. "I'll think about it," she said, taking the mug of tea with a grateful smile.

Chapter Text

Theodore Nott knew his heart was stolen the moment he met Dahlia Potter. Though he didn't realize it at the time, that brief encounter on September 1st, 1991, would be etched in his memory forever.

The platform was bustling with the chaos of families saying their goodbyes as first-year students prepared to board the Hogwarts Express. Theo stood beside his father, Vincent Nott, who was adjusting the collar of his son's robes with a rare softness in his movements.

"Take care, my son," Vincent said, his deep voice laced with both pride and lingering sorrow. "Write to me often, and remember—no matter what house you're sorted into, you'll always be my son, and I will always love you."

Theo swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice steady as he replied, "I love you too, Father."

The words were simple but carried weight, especially for the Nott family. After his mother, Lydia, passed away two years ago from an incurable magical illness, everything in the Nott Manor had shifted. Grief hung heavy in the halls, but Vincent Nott ensured that one thing remained steadfast—his love for his son. It was a love that might surprise those who whispered about the Nott name, often with disdain or fear, given the family's Death Eater ties. But the Notts were not like some other pureblood families. Beneath the dark legacy, there was warmth, and Vincent cherished Theodore fiercely.

Lydia Nott, née Avery, had been betrothed to Vincent since infancy—a common arrangement in their circles. They had despised the notion of their union growing up, finding the entire tradition suffocating. But over time, hatred turned into something else. Real love. A bond that even the darkest times couldn't break. Before her death, Lydia made Vincent promise he would never force Theodore into an arranged marriage. "Let him choose his happiness," she'd whispered with her last breaths, a plea Vincent intended to honor.

After one last hug, Theo turned toward the train, clutching his trunk as he steeled himself for the unknown. This was it—his first step into a world he'd dreamed of joining. His father's voice faded into the background as the noise of the platform enveloped him. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, only to collide with someone.

"Oof!" came the soft, startled sound as the person stumbled back, nearly losing their footing. Theo barely managed to steady himself, blinking at the small figure in front of him.

It was a girl, maybe his age, dressed in oversized, threadbare Muggle clothes that looked several sizes too big. The bright colors clashed awkwardly, the fabric worn and patched in places. It was, frankly, dreadful—but Theo found he couldn't look away.

"I am so sorry!" she blurted out, her voice light but rushed, as if she thought he'd be angry. Then she looked up, and Theo's breath caught in his throat.

Her eyes—emerald green, vivid and piercing—met his, and for a moment, the chaos of the platform faded. Theo felt like he'd been hit with a stunning spell. His mind went blank, his words stuck somewhere between his thoughts and his lips. All he could do was stare, utterly bewitched.

She gave him a sheepish, apologetic smile, tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I—I wasn't looking where I was going. Sorry again!"

Still, Theo couldn't move. His heart pounded against his ribs like a caged bird desperate to escape. He was vaguely aware of her shifting awkwardly under his gaze. Merlin, say something! his mind screamed, but his body refused to obey.

When it became clear he wasn't going to respond, the girl's cheeks flushed, and she gave him an awkward little wave. "Uh, right... okay. Well, bye!" She darted past him, disappearing into the crowd before he could gather his wits.

Theo stood frozen for several moments, his trunk forgotten at his side. His heart continued its erratic rhythm as he replayed the encounter in his mind, over and over. He didn't even know her name, but she had left an indelible mark on him. The memory of her emerald eyes and shy smile would haunt him long after that day.

Eventually, he shook himself out of his stupor and made his way onto the train. His heart was still racing, and he couldn't help but glance at every compartment, hoping for another glimpse of the girl in the ill-fitting Muggle clothes.

"Who was that?" he muttered to himself, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite his confusion.

Little did Theo know, he'd just encountered Dahlia Potter—the girl who lived. The girl who, unknowingly, had just captured his heart.

────

Theodore Nott sat quietly in the corner of their compartment, the rhythmic clatter of the train's wheels a soothing backdrop to his thoughts. Beside him, Blaise Zabini lounged comfortably, flipping lazily through a copy of The Daily Prophet. Across from them, the seats were empty—Draco, Vincent, and Gregory had left, all practically buzzing with excitement to introduce themselves to Dahlia Potter, the Girl Who Lived.

Theo hadn't joined them. The idea of vying for the attention of someone so famous didn't appeal to him. Not that it mattered—his mind was elsewhere, preoccupied by the brief encounter earlier on the platform. The girl with emerald green eyes who had bumped into him had left an impression he couldn't shake.

When the others returned, Theo glanced up only to be greeted by a stormy-looking Draco Malfoy, his pale face flushed with irritation. He threw himself into his seat, arms crossed, and began muttering under his breath.

"What happened to you?" Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow as he folded the paper.

"I can't believe it," Draco grumbled, glaring out the window as if it had personally offended him. "Potter—Potter—had the nerve to refuse my friendship. My friendship! And she's friends with the Weasleys of all people. The nerve!"

Blaise snorted. "That sucks."

Theo forced a neutral response, not wanting to seem too interested. "Hmm. Tough luck, Malfoy." But his gaze drifted back to the window, his mind still fixed on the emerald-eyed girl. Could she really be...?

────

Later, at the Sorting Ceremony, Theo's question was answered in the most unexpected way. His attention had drifted during Professor McGonagall's announcements, the usual nerves of being a first-year dulled by his thoughts. But when she called out a name that sent the entire Great Hall into a flurry of whispers, his focus snapped back.

"Potter, Dahlia."

The whispers swelled, the name carrying weight and meaning that left no room for doubt. Theo's breath caught as he watched a small figure step forward. And there she was—the same girl who had collided with him on the platform, now walking toward the Sorting Hat with her head held high despite the weight of countless eyes on her.

Theo froze, his stomach sinking as realization hit him like a stunning spell. She wasn't just a girl with captivating green eyes. She was the Dahlia Potter. The savior of the wizarding world. The child who had defeated Voldemort as an infant.

He watched her sit on the stool, the Sorting Hat placed gently on her head. Theo didn't hear what house she was sorted into—his mind was too busy racing with doubts. What chance did he, the son of a Death Eater, possibly have with someone like her? Someone so radiant, so untouchable, and so out of his reach?

────

For the next two years, Theo resigned himself to admiring Dahlia from a distance. He never spoke to her, never approached her, but she was never far from his mind.

He found himself noticing little things about her that others overlooked. How she scrunched her nose when she concentrated during lessons. How she always pushed her bangs out of her face before mounting her broomstick. How she bit her lip when she was worried.

Theo, who had always preferred the quiet solitude of the library, found himself attending every Gryffindor Quidditch match—even if Slytherin wasn't playing. He claimed it was just for the spectacle, but Blaise wasn't fooled.

"You hate Quidditch," Blaise pointed out one Saturday, watching Theo out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't hate it," Theo replied casually, but his gaze never left the pitch. Dahlia was zooming through the air, her hair flying in the wind, her eyes sharp and focused.

Blaise smirked. "You're terrible at hiding things, you know."

"Shut it," Theo muttered, but his cheeks turned slightly pink.

His concern for her became a constant undercurrent to his days at Hogwarts. Every time she was in the infirmary, his chest tightened with worry. When she got into dangerous situations—whether during Quidditch matches or because of the increasingly strange and dangerous events surrounding her—he had to fight the urge to intervene, knowing she'd never appreciate it from someone like him.

One day, during Transfiguration class, he found himself lingering in the classroom longer than usual when he saw her walk in with her friends. She laughed at something Ron said, her emerald eyes sparkling, and Theo felt his chest tighten painfully.

"She doesn't even give a damn about you," he muttered to himself, his hand tightening around the straps of his bag.

But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself to move on, he couldn't. Not when she was the first person he thought of in the morning, and the last person he thought of at night. Not when her presence seemed to light up even the darkest corners of his life.

And so, Theo continued to pine silently, hiding his feelings behind his usual calm, collected demeanor. Because how could he, a Nott, ever be worthy of Dahlia Potter?

────

Theo had been aimlessly perusing the shelves at Flourish and Blotts, pretending to look interested in the array of books before him. Truthfully, he was killing time until his father returned from Gringotts. The store was peaceful, the faint smell of parchment and ink hanging in the air—a perfect place for a bit of quiet.

Then, the bell above the door chimed, and Theo glanced up. His breath hitched.

Dahlia Potter.

She didn't look anything like the girl he remembered from school. The ragged hand-me-downs were gone, replaced by a tasteful green dress that seemed made for her. Her dark hair was braided, strands catching the afternoon light, and she carried herself with an unintentional elegance that made it hard for him to look away.

He quickly ducked behind a nearby shelf, berating himself. Get a grip, Nott. She's Potter. You don't stand a chance.

But his traitorous feet didn't listen. When she wandered into the fiction section, her arms already stacked high with books, Theo found himself following at a distance. He watched as she skimmed through titles, occasionally adding another to her growing pile.

When she finally headed toward the counter, he seized his chance. It wasn't premeditated—it was impulsive, reckless even—but Theo knew he'd regret letting the moment pass. He stepped into her path at just the right moment, "accidentally" bumping into her.

The books went flying.

"Oh!" Dahlia gasped, startled as the stack of books she'd been carrying tumbled to the floor. She immediately crouched, reaching for the closest ones. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking—"

Theo crouched as well, his lips twitching into an amused smile. "I can see that," he teased, handing her a book. "Here, let me help you. What's a little lady like you doing carrying so many books all alone?"

He kept his tone light, masking the quickened pace of his heart. Up close, her emerald eyes were mesmerizing, and he found himself momentarily caught in their pull. Forcing himself to focus, he picked up another book, silently chastising himself for staring.

"I'm staying all alone at the Leaky Cauldron—" Dahlia began but faltered as her gaze lifted to meet his.

'Well, that's something you shouldn't tell a stranger,'  Theo thought, though he didn't say it aloud. He watched as her expression shifted, her surprise giving way to recognition.

"Done checking me out, Potter?" Theo asked with a smirk, his tone as casual as he could manage. He'd noticed how her eyes lingered on him, and he wasn't about to let it slide.

"I—I am not checking you out, Nott," Dahlia stammered, her cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

"Sure you aren't, Cara," Theo teased, noting how her blush deepened under his gaze.

"Whatever," Dahlia muttered, rolling her eyes as she bent down to retrieve more of the fallen books. She reached for the stack in his hands, but Theo stopped her, holding them just out of reach.

"I'm only teasing you, Potter. No need to get so riled up. Besides, I offered to help, didn't I? I'm a man of my word, and I can't let a pretty lady like you struggle with all these books."

"Fine," Dahlia relented, standing and brushing off her skirt, clearly not in the mood for further argument.

Once they reached the counter, Theo watched as she paid for her books, carefully placing them into a bag enchanted with Extension and Feather-Light Charms. As they stepped outside, he fell into stride beside her, unable to resist sneaking glances her way. Lucky doesn't even begin to cover how I feel right now.

"So, Potter," he said, breaking the silence, "I see you finally decided to have a wardrobe change."

Dahlia turned her head slightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. I finally remembered I had money and didn't need to wear my cousin's old clothes anymore."

Theo hummed in approval, his eyes briefly scanning her outfit. "That's good. You finally look like the heiress that you are."

"Well, I suppose it's time I started acting like one too," she replied with a touch of humor, though there was sincerity in her words.

As they continued walking, Theo tucked his hands casually into his pockets. "So, what else do you need to get? Or should I assume you've managed to clear out every shop in Diagon Alley already?"

Dahlia rolled her eyes but didn't hide the small smile that played on her lips. "Books were the last on my list, actually. I'm all set for Hogwarts now." She shot him a curious glance. "What about you? I'm surprised to see you here without Malfoy's usual entourage."

Theo shrugged, his expression indifferent. "Draco's got his own shopping to do, and I prefer to avoid the mess. Besides," he added with a smirk, "I wouldn't have bumped into you if I'd been trailing after him, would I?"

Dahlia blinked at his words, momentarily caught off guard. Theo felt a rush of satisfaction but didn't let it show. When she changed the subject, he smiled to himself.

"Are you ready for school? Any big plans for this year?" she asked.

"Other than surviving another term of Snape's mood swings and dodging Peeves' pranks?" Theo chuckled. "I've been considering taking up Ancient Runes, actually. Heard it's more useful than Divination."

Dahlia raised an eyebrow at him. "You're switching to Ancient Runes too? What a coincidence."

"Or maybe it's fate," Theo said, his grin playful.

She snorted, shaking her head. "If you're going to sound like Trelawney, maybe you should stick with Divination."

"Fair point," Theo conceded, laughing. "But seriously, Runes seems interesting, and I hear Professor Babbling is brilliant. Guess we'll be seeing more of each other in class, won't we?"

"I guess so," Dahlia replied, her tone neutral, though Theo didn't miss the slight flicker of intrigue in her eyes.

As they reached the Leaky Cauldron, Theo slowed his pace, reluctant for the moment to end. He paused by the entrance, handing her bag back with a deliberate brush of his fingers against hers.

"Well, Potter, it looks like this is where we part ways. For now, at least."

"Thanks for the help," Dahlia said softly, her voice steady despite the faint color that touched her cheeks. "I owe you one."

"Don't mention it," Theo replied with a wink. "Just don't be surprised if I call in that favor one day."

He turned to leave but stopped after a few steps. Glancing back, he waved, his heart pounding in a way he wasn't used to. Dahlia stood at the doorway, watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read.

Maybe fate isn't so bad after all, Theo thought as he walked away, a small smile tugging at his lips.

────

When Theo heard that Dahlia fainted on the train because of the Dementors, his stomach twisted unpleasantly. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but the worry gnawed at him, sharper with every passing moment. He leaned back in his seat, feigning disinterest, but Blaise—always too observant—picked up on it immediately.

"Relax, Potter will be fine, Theo," Blaise said, smirking faintly. "She's a strong little girl."

The comment drew a reluctant chuckle from Theo, but it didn't do much to ease the knot in his chest. He glanced at the entrance to the Great Hall more often than he'd like to admit, waiting for some confirmation that she was alright. When she finally appeared at the Gryffindor table, chatting with her friends as if nothing had happened, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

She's fine, he told himself. Still, his gaze lingered on her for the rest of the evening. Every time she smiled or laughed at something Granger said, the tension in his shoulders eased a little more.

────

The next day in Ancient Runes, Professor Babbling announced a long-term project and that students would need to partner with someone from a different house. Theo's first thought was of Dahlia. He glanced her way, catching her scribbling notes with a determined focus that made the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

But then doubt crept in. What if she doesn't want to work with me?

Blaise, sitting beside him, clearly noticed Theo's internal debate. With a light nudge to his ribs, Blaise leaned closer and whispered, "Go on, your time to shine, Prince Charming."

Theo shot him a withering look. "What if she doesn't want to partner up with me?" he muttered.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "From what you told me about this summer, I think she'd prefer you over anyone else. Trust me."

Theo hesitated, his fingers tapping the edge of his desk. Finally, he pushed his chair back and stood, ignoring Blaise's low chuckle as he made his way toward her.

Theo approached Dahlia's desk, his heart beating steadily, though his face betrayed nothing but calm confidence. He caught the way her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. "Potter."

Her emerald eyes met his, and for a moment, Theo allowed himself to take in her startled expression. She looked surprised—almost too surprised, as if the idea of him speaking to her was an anomaly.

"Nott," she replied, blinking as if trying to process his presence. "I see you actually signed up for Ancient Runes."

Theo smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Of course. It's a bit more intellectually thrilling than Divination." He let his gaze linger on her, softening his tone. "Besides... there's someone here worth working with."

The color in her cheeks darkened, and Theo felt a flicker of satisfaction at the sight. Dahlia fumbled with her parchment, trying to stuff it into her bag, clearly caught off guard.

Hermione Granger, seated beside her, paused mid-sentence in whatever she was writing. She glanced between Theo and Dahlia, a sly smile forming on her lips, though Theo barely paid her any attention.

Blaise, leaning against a nearby desk with the casualness of someone who lived for moments like this, chimed in. "We figured it would be logical to partner up. Granger, you can work with me, and Potter—" He gave Theo a pointed look. "You're with him."

Theo leaned in slightly, enough to close some of the space between him and Dahlia but not enough to be intrusive. He kept his voice steady, letting it dip into something softer, more deliberate. "Library. Later at five. Don't be late."

Dahlia swallowed, her gaze flicking to his as she nodded. "Uh, yeah. Sure. That works."

Theo stepped back, satisfied, and turned to leave with Blaise. As he walked out, he allowed himself a small glance over his shoulder. Granger was already leaning toward Dahlia, her quill forgotten, her expression brimming with amusement.

Once they were out of earshot, Blaise chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well, that was smooth, Prince Charming. I half-expected her to swoon."

Theo rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Shut up, Zabini."

"Just saying," Blaise teased. "You're making this way too obvious. It's almost embarrassing—for me, not you."

Theo didn't reply, instead focusing on the corridor ahead, though his mind lingered on the faint blush on Dahlia's face. The way she'd looked at him—surprised but not dismissive—was promising. Blaise, of course, wouldn't let it go.

"She'll be there, you know," Blaise said as they reached the next classroom.

Theo glanced at him. "Who?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Don't play dumb. Potter. She's not the type to back out. You've got her attention, mate. Now it's just a matter of what you do with it."

Theo shook his head, brushing past Blaise and into the classroom. "You talk too much."

Blaise's laughter followed him in.

────

Theo arrived at the library a few minutes early, choosing a quiet corner near the far end where he could work uninterrupted. He spread his parchment and began organizing his Arithmancy notes, though his thoughts weren't entirely focused. The idea of spending the evening with Dahlia Potter lingered in the back of his mind. He wouldn't admit it—not even to Blaise—but he was looking forward to it.

The sound of soft footsteps drew his attention, and he glanced up to see Dahlia making her way through the rows of towering shelves. Her dark hair framed her face, and there was a quiet determination in the way she carried herself. She paused a few steps away, clearing her throat.

"Ah, Potter. You're here," Theo greeted, his voice neutral but polite, masking the slight satisfaction at seeing her.

"Dahlia is fine," she said, setting her bag down on the table. "Where are Zabini and Hermione?"

Theo leaned back in his chair, shrugging. "Somewhere around here, I imagine. But if you're offering your given name, then it's only proper you call me Theo." A small smirk curved his lips.

She blinked, and Theo watched as a flicker of recognition passed over her face. She was probably recalling one of those etiquette books she was rumored to study. After a moment's pause, she nodded. "Alright, Theo."

"Good," he said simply, his smirk softening.

Her gaze drifted to the parchment spread before him. "What are you working on?"

"Just sorting my Arithmancy notes," Theo replied, casually pushing the paper aside to make room for their Ancient Runes project.

Dahlia leaned in slightly, her curiosity evident. "Oh, that looks interesting."

Theo raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her interest. "It is. Arithmancy is like Divination, but grounded in numerology. That's why I dropped Divination—it felt like a waste compared to this."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Numbers feel a bit... more solid than tea leaves."

"Exactly." He allowed himself a small smile, appreciating her perceptiveness.

"Shall we start?" he asked, pulling their Runes textbook closer.

"Let's," Dahlia agreed, and they dove into the assignment.

Theo was impressed by her focus as they debated which rune to present and how to structure their research. She was sharp, asking insightful questions and challenging his ideas in ways that kept him on his toes. It was... refreshing.

As the session wore on, Theo leaned back in his chair, setting his quill aside. "You know," he said, glancing at her, "I think I made a good choice partnering with you. You're easy to work with—much better than most people I've been paired with before."

She looked at him, surprised by the compliment. "You're not so bad yourself."

Just as she said it, her quill slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She bent down to grab it at the same time Theo did, and their hands brushed briefly.

Theo froze, his gaze locking onto hers as their faces ended up closer than he'd anticipated. For a moment, his usual composure faltered, and he found himself staring into her emerald eyes. There was something disarming about the way she looked at him—unsure yet steady.

Recovering quickly, Theo picked up the quill and handed it to her, his voice quieter than usual. "Here."

"Thanks," she murmured, her fingers brushing his as she took the quill.

Before either of them could say more, a loud clearing of a throat broke the moment. Theo looked up sharply to see Blaise and Granger standing a few feet away, both radiating amusement.

"My, my," Blaise drawled, smirking as he crossed his arms. "How this will shatter the hearts of all those heiresses who fawn over you, Theo."

Theo rolled his eyes, though he could feel a faint flush creeping up his neck. "Shut up, Blaise."

Granger, meanwhile, was watching Dahlia with a knowing smirk. "So, Lia, are you two done? I was hoping we could walk to the Great Hall together."

Dahlia cleared her throat, obviously flustered. "Oh, uh, yeah, we're done. Thanks for today, Theo."

"The pleasure's all mine, Dahlia," Theo replied smoothly, regaining his composure.

As she and Granger left, Theo watched them go, Blaise's low chuckle pulling him back to reality.

"You're hopeless," Blaise teased, falling into step beside him as they left the library.

Theo didn't respond, but his thoughts lingered on the way her name had sounded on his lips—and the way her eyes had lingered just a moment too long.

────

The corridor was quiet, save for the faint echoes of footsteps against the stone floor. Theo leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, his sharp eyes scanning the path ahead. He'd seen Dahlia slip out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom earlier, her expression tight and distant. It didn't take much to guess why. The boggart had clearly rattled her—though she'd hidden it well, there was something in the way she carried herself afterward that lingered in Theo's mind.

As her dark hair appeared at the far end of the hall, Theo straightened and stepped into her path, feigning a nonchalant air. Timing it perfectly, he let her bump into him.

She stumbled back slightly, her soft gasp drawing his attention to her wide, startled emerald eyes.

"Potter," he drawled smoothly, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. "If you wanted to run into me, you could've just said so."

Dahlia blinked, her face flushing as she stammered, "Oh, Theo! I—I wasn't paying attention. Sorry about that."

"Clearly," Theo said, folding his arms loosely across his chest as he watched her with faint amusement. "You looked like you were in another world. What's got the savior of the wizarding world so preoccupied?"

She hesitated, her fingers twitching at the hem of her sleeve. "I just... needed some air. It's been an overwhelming few weeks."

Theo's smirk softened slightly, his voice lowering. "I can imagine. That boggart didn't help, did it?"

Her gaze dropped, and she fiddled with the edge of her robes. "Not really," she admitted, her voice quiet. "It's just... everything. Classes, the Sirius Black stuff, the boggart. It's a lot."

For a moment, Theo considered her, his usual aloofness tempered by something more sincere. "Sounds like you've got quite the weight on your shoulders, Cara. Want some company to help lighten it?"

Her head shot up, surprise flickering across her face. "You... want to walk with me?"

He smirked, his tone effortlessly smooth. "Why not? Unless you think being seen with me will ruin your reputation."

She laughed softly, and the sound sparked something in him—something he quickly ignored. "I was more worried about your reputation. Wouldn't Draco and the others mind?"

Theo leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. "Draco knows better than to cross me. And as for the others..." He gave a nonchalant shrug. "I couldn't care less what they think. So, what do you say? Shall we, Cara?"

The nickname had the desired effect; her cheeks flushed faintly as she nodded. "O-okay. If you're sure."

"Good," Theo said, falling into step beside her. "Let's see where your wandering takes us."

As they walked, Theo kept the conversation light, weaving between sharp observations and subtle flirtation. He asked about their Ancient Runes project, poked fun at Trelawney's absurd predictions, and made a point to keep her laughing.

At one point, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, smirking. "You know, for someone who's meant to be the savior of the wizarding world, you're surprisingly shy."

She laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not shy. Just... cautious."

"Cautious?" Theo repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Interesting choice of words. Does that mean I'm a danger to you?"

She rolled her eyes, her lips twitching as though she was trying not to smile. "You wish."

"Ah, so you're saying I'm harmless?" he asked, feigning offense. "Ouch, Cara. You wound me."

She laughed outright, shaking her head. "Hopeless," she muttered under her breath.

"Perhaps," Theo conceded with a grin. "But I'd rather be hopeless than boring."

When they reached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, Theo slowed his steps, turning to face her. "Looks like this is your stop."

Dahlia paused, glancing up at him with a small, genuine smile. "Thanks for walking with me. It... helped."

Theo smirked, leaning slightly closer, his voice low and deliberate. "The pleasure's all mine, Cara. I'm always happy to spend time with you."

Her blush deepened, and she looked away quickly. "See you tomorrow?"

"Count on it," he said smoothly, his tone laced with confidence. "We'll absolutely kill our presentation. Well, you will—I'm mostly there to look pretty."

Dahlia laughed, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're brilliant," Theo said with a wink, stepping back. "Goodnight, Potter."

"Goodnight," she said softly, her voice lingering in his ears as he turned and strode back toward the dungeons, a smirk playing on his lips.

────

Theo slumped back against his pillows, still trying to calm his racing thoughts after the day's incident. Dahlia Potter. Her name looped through his head like a stuck charm. Every detail was seared into his mind—the startled look in her eyes, the softness of her lips, the way her blush spread across her cheeks. And the way she had laughed nervously afterward, completely unaware of how utterly wrecked she had left him.

He groaned, pulling a hand through his hair. Merlin, what's wrong with me?

The dormitory door creaked open, and before he could even gather his composure, Blaise, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle strolled in. Blaise froze in the doorway, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in Theo's disheveled appearance.

"Well, well," Blaise said, smirking as he leaned against the doorframe. "What's this? Theodore Nott, looking like he's been Stunned. Let me guess—this has something to do with our dear Dahlia."

Theo stiffened, shooting him a glare. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I do," Blaise said, sauntering closer. "You've been circling Potter for weeks. And now you're here, looking half-drunk on whatever just happened. Care to explain what happened while we were in Hogsmeade?"

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged puzzled glances while Draco arched a brow, folding his arms across his chest. "Potter?" Draco repeated, sounding both amused and exasperated. "This better be good, Theo."

"It's nothing," Theo snapped, sitting up straighter. "Drop it."

"Oh, it's something," Blaise said, flopping into the armchair near Theo's bed. "Otherwise, you wouldn't look like you just fell head over heels off your broomstick."

Theo hesitated, torn between denying everything and just getting them to shut up. But Blaise was annoyingly perceptive, and Draco wasn't going to let it go either.

"She slipped on the stairs," Theo said finally, his tone clipped.

"And?" Blaise prompted, grinning like a Kneazle that had cornered a mouse.

"I caught her."

"And?"

Theo clenched his jaw, glaring at the ceiling. "And... our lips brushed. By accident. Happy now?"

The room fell silent for half a second before Blaise let out a bark of laughter, doubling over in his seat. "Merlin, this is priceless! Nott, of all people, sharing a kiss with the Golden Girl. And not just any kiss—an accidental one!"

"It wasn't a kiss," Theo snapped, his ears burning. "It was barely a brush."

"Sure it was," Blaise teased, his grin widening.

Draco, meanwhile, had moved from amusement to disbelief. "Potter? You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."

"I'm not joking," Theo muttered.

Draco let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "The heir of the Nott family, kissing Potter. What would your father say?"

Theo sat up abruptly, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. "No one is saying anything. It doesn't leave this room."

"Relax, Theo," Blaise said, waving a hand. "Your secret's safe with us. Though, honestly, you don't look like a guy who just survived an accident. You look like a guy who enjoyed it."

Theo scowled, but the pink tint on his ears betrayed him.

"Oh, this is rich," Blaise continued, smirking. "Theo Nott, smitten with Dahlia Potter. Who would've thought?"

Crabbe furrowed his brow. "Wait, so... are you courting her now?"

"No," Theo growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"Why not?" Goyle chimed in, genuinely confused. "You kissed her. Isn't that how courting works?"

"It was an accident," Theo bit out.

"Doesn't sound like you hated it, though," Blaise quipped, leaning back in his chair. "So, tell us—what's your plan, lover boy? Going to confess your undying affection tomorrow, or just keep tripping over her until she figures it out herself?"

"I hate you," Theo muttered, flopping back onto his bed.

Draco chuckled, his smirk returning. "You might want to figure it out fast, Theo. Because if you keep acting like this, she's going to notice something's up."

Theo groaned, pulling a pillow over his face. "Why did I even tell you?"

"Because you're hopelessly in love," Blaise said smugly. "And we're going to have so much fun watching this unfold."

Theo let out a muffled yell into his pillow, cursing his life and his friends. And maybe fate for making him fall for someone so completely out of reach.

────

The castle's dim corridors felt unusually suffocating to Theo as he stalked through them, his mind a tangle of irritation and something much sharper. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but when he turned the corner and saw Dahlia talking to Cedric Diggory, he froze, keeping to the shadows.

The sight of her, even from a distance, brought the usual rush of warmth and longing he couldn't quite suppress. But that warmth quickly curdled as Diggory leaned closer, his golden-boy charm practically oozing out of every word.

What does he want now? Theo thought bitterly, his fists clenching. He couldn't hear everything they were saying, but Dahlia's soft smile and the faint blush dusting her cheeks told him enough.

Then Diggory turned to leave, and Theo couldn't stop himself.

"I see you're getting cozy with pretty-boy Diggory," he drawled, stepping out of the shadows.

Dahlia spun around, her expression a mix of surprise and irritation. "He just wanted to apologize about the match," she said, her voice defensive.

"Sure he did," Theo replied, his tone sharper than he intended.

Dahlia narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you want, Theo?"

He hesitated, his jealousy simmering under the surface. "How are you?" he asked, softening his tone slightly. "You've been avoiding me these past few days."

"I have not," she said quickly, the pink in her cheeks deepening.

Theo raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. "Yes, you have. But I'm not here to argue." He hesitated, the vulnerability of what he wanted to say making him feel exposed. "I just wanted to check on you. Especially after what happened earlier."

Dahlia's expression shifted, the tension easing from her shoulders. "I'm fine," she said, though her tone betrayed her. "I can't say the same for my Nimbus."

"What happened to it?" Theo asked, his brow furrowing.

"It got blown into the Whomping Willow," she said, crossing her arms. "And, well, you know how that tree is..."

Theo's frown deepened. "It broke your broom," he stated flatly.

She nodded, a faint sigh escaping her. "Yeah."

Theo clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to hunt down whoever was responsible. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he settled for offering, "Are you heading back to your common room?"

"Yes," she said, though there was a hint of hesitation in her voice.

"I'll walk you," Theo said.

For a moment, it looked like she might refuse, but then she gave a small nod. "All right."

They walked in silence, the echo of their footsteps the only sound between them. Theo stole glances at her out of the corner of his eye, his mind spinning.

Diggory. The thought of Dahlia smiling at him like that, of her soft blush reserved for someone else, made Theo's stomach churn. He hated how Diggory's easy charm seemed to draw Dahlia in. Did she prefer that kind of warmth? Was she even aware of how often Theo's eyes sought her out, of how much he lingered in her orbit for the smallest chance to speak with her?

When they reached the Fat Lady's portrait, Theo finally forced himself to speak.

"Thank you for walking me," Dahlia said, turning to him.

Before she could leave, Theo reached out, gently taking her hand. The words tumbled out of him before he could stop them. "Please don't avoid me again, cara."

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she didn't speak. The heat from her hand seemed to sear into his skin, and when she finally nodded, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Okay..."

Theo pressed a kiss to her knuckles, lingering just a second longer than necessary before letting go. He turned without another word, his heart pounding so hard he was certain she could hear it.

────

Back in his dormitory, Theo threw himself onto his bed, dragging a hand over his face as frustration and longing twisted inside him.

What is wrong with me? His mind replayed the moment, her startled expression, the warmth of her hand in his. He groaned inwardly, wishing he could erase the stupid way his heart had leapt—and the flicker of annoyance that still lingered.

"You look like you've just failed an exam," Blaise's voice broke through his thoughts.

Theo sat up abruptly, glaring as Blaise leaned casually against the doorframe, smirking like the Cheshire cat. Behind him, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle filed in, Draco raising a single brow at Theo's unusually disheveled state.

"Let me guess," Blaise continued, his tone dripping with amusement. "This is about Potter."

Theo's scowl deepened. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't play coy," Blaise replied, crossing his arms. "You've been acting strange for weeks, and we all know who's behind it. What happened this time? Did she trip into your arms again, or was it another one of your charmingly awkward moments?"

Theo flushed, irritation bubbling as he looked away. "Nothing happened."

Blaise snorted, shaking his head. "Right. And Crabbe's secretly a Charms prodigy."

"Hey!" Crabbe protested faintly, but no one paid him any mind.

Draco smirked, leaning against a bedpost. "If you're going to lose your mind over Potter, at least spare us the denial. It's painfully obvious."

"I'm not losing my mind," Theo snapped, though even he wasn't convinced.

"Then why are you sulking?" Blaise pressed, clearly delighted.

"I'm not sulking," Theo shot back, his voice taut.

"You are," Draco chimed in smoothly, a knowing glint in his eyes. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're brooding because someone else caught her attention."

Theo stiffened, his jaw tightening. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure we don't," Blaise said, smirking wider. "But if it's not about Potter, then who else could it be?"

Theo grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at Blaise, who dodged easily, laughing. "You're insufferable," Theo muttered, flopping back onto his bed and dragging another pillow over his face.

"I'm brilliant," Blaise countered with a chuckle. "And you're hopeless."

Draco chuckled, gesturing to Theo's prone form. "If you keep this up, Nott, you'll be the new poster child for lovesick Slytherins."

Theo didn't bother replying, focusing instead on tamping down the mix of emotions roiling inside him. It wasn't jealousy—at least that's what he told himself. And yet, every time he thought of her smiling at someone else, that unfamiliar, burning sensation flared again.

Hopeless. Maybe Blaise was right.

────

Theo leaned casually against the staircase railing, flipping through the pages of a book he wasn't actually reading. His focus was elsewhere. He had been deliberately passing through this corridor more often than usual, hoping to "coincidentally" run into a certain Gryffindor. When she finally appeared, lost in thought as she climbed the stairs, Theo allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk.

Her sudden collision with him jolted them both, though Theo recovered first, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder. "Ah, cara," he teased, the term of endearment rolling off his tongue effortlessly. "Are you sure you don't plan these little run-ins with me?"

She looked up, her emerald eyes wide with surprise, and he had to fight the flutter in his chest. "Oh, Theo," she said, rubbing her temple, clearly flustered. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"You never are when we meet like this," he quipped, a teasing lilt to his voice. Still, his gaze lingered on her face, softer than he intended. She looked tired, distracted, and yet somehow she still managed to be breathtaking.

"Shut up," she shot back, though the corner of her lips twitched upward, hinting at the smile she was trying to suppress.

As she turned to leave, Theo caught her wrist gently but firmly. "Wait, Dahlia. We haven't talked in days. I'm beginning to think you're avoiding me."

Her posture shifted, shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of her guilt. "I know," she admitted softly. "I've just been... swamped. Between Quidditch practice, Patronus lessons, and all this schoolwork, I barely have time to breathe."

He fell into step beside her, his usual smirk still in place. "Understandable. But it doesn't mean I can't walk you back to your tower. Let me play knight for the Gryffindor princess, hmm?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue, which Theo took as a victory. They walked together in comfortable silence for a few moments, and Theo allowed himself to relish the closeness, even if it was fleeting. But then she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her expression unreadable.

"Theo," she began cautiously, "were you serious? About what you implied that night?"

His smirk widened. "Ah, so you did read that part of your book. I thought you might've skipped over it."

Her cheeks flushed, and she stopped walking, turning to face him. "Theo." There was a rare vulnerability in her voice that made his chest tighten. "Answer the question."

The teasing glint in his eyes faded as he met her gaze directly, all pretense gone. "Of course I'm serious, cara. I've liked you for longer than you realize."

She blinked, clearly taken aback. "But... we barely spoke before Diagon Alley!"

Theo shrugged, his smile tinged with amusement. "Doesn't mean I wasn't paying attention. Sometimes admiration doesn't need words—at least not at first."

Her emerald eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Theo could see the wheels turning in her mind. "You're messing with me," she accused. "If you were serious, you'd have sent me a gift of intent by now."

His grin turned sheepish, a rare crack in his otherwise confident demeanor. "I haven't sent one yet because I want it to be perfect. Only the best for my Cara Mia."

Her cheeks darkened further, and she turned away quickly, though not before Theo caught the faint curve of her lips. He felt a surge of satisfaction. Despite her best efforts, she wasn't immune to him.

When they reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, their moment was interrupted by the presence of her housemates—Fred, George, Neville, and Ron—all standing there like a line of judgmental older brothers.

"Well, well," Fred drawled, his tone dripping with mock disapproval. "If it isn't the Slytherin Ice Prince himself."

"The one and only," George added, squinting at Theo like he was evaluating a rare artifact. "You're shorter than I expected."

Theo's eyebrow twitched, but he maintained his composure. "Charmed," he replied dryly.

"What exactly are your intentions with our sister?" Neville asked, his unusually stern tone catching Theo slightly off guard.

Theo straightened, his Slytherin pride refusing to let him falter. His voice was steady and firm as he answered, "I intend to treat her like the queen she is. To give her everything she deserves and love her with everything I have—for as long as I have."

Fred and George exchanged exaggerated, impressed looks. "Hmmm, promising words," Fred said, stroking his chin.

"But," Neville interrupted, leaning in closer, "you'd better send that gift of intent soon, Nott. Because if you don't, someone else might beat you to it."

Theo's smirk returned, confident and unruffled. "Don't worry," he said coolly. "It'll be worth the wait."

Dahlia groaned, clearly exasperated, and tugged open the portrait hole. "Goodnight, Theo. And you lot—leave him alone!"

Fred, George, and Neville snickered, while Ron muttered under his breath, "Still don't trust him."

As the portrait hole swung shut behind her, Theo allowed himself a small, private smile. His heart felt lighter, even as he turned to walk back to the dungeons. Whatever hoops he had to jump through, whatever obstacles her friends might throw his way, he knew she was worth every second.

────

Theodore Nott trudged through the forest, his boots crunching softly against the underbrush. Today marked another year since his mother's death, and as always, he sought solace among the Thestrals. Their eerie grace and quiet companionship helped ease the ache that never truly left. After classes, he'd declined Draco's invitation to witness Hagrid's "oversized chicken" meeting its fate—he had no interest in watching the spectacle.

As twilight gave way to darkness, Theo made his way back toward the castle. Near the edge of the forest, movement caught his eye—a rat scurrying frantically across the path. He paused, annoyance flickering. He was about to let it go when something clicked. Could it be Weasley's rat?

Curiosity piqued, Theo made a half-hearted attempt to catch it, but the rodent was too quick. Frustrated, he pulled out his wand. "Petrificus Totalus," he muttered. The rat froze mid-scurry, and Theo smirked, pleased with himself. Scooping the stiff creature into a makeshift black container he'd found, he continued back to the castle, intending to deliver it later.

As he neared the entrance, Theo's smirk vanished. A cluster of students had gathered, murmuring in hushed tones. His stomach twisted when he overheard snippets: "Potter... Weasley... attacked... hospital wing."

His pace quickened, and his sharp eyes caught a glimpse of Dahlia and Weasley being carried inside, unconscious. A surge of worry shot through him, though he forced himself to appear nonchalant. He couldn't just barge in there. Instead, he retreated to his dormitory, tossing the container with the rat onto his desk as his mind raced.

A short while later, the word spread—Dahlia had woken up. Theo didn't hesitate. Grabbing the container, he made his way to the hospital wing, masking his concern with his usual air of nonchalance.

"Cara!" he called as he stepped into the infirmary.

Dahlia turned, startled. "Theo? What are you doing here?"

He strode in, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he held up the small black container. "I heard you'd landed yourself in the infirmary—again. Honestly, can you try to stay out of here for at least one school term?"

"Well, I'm fine," Dahlia replied dryly, gesturing to her ruined shoes and torn dress. "Can't say the same for my outfit, though."

Theo's lips twitched. "Tragic. Anyway," he said, his tone shifting, "I came to deliver this." He extended the container toward Ron, who was sitting up in bed, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

Ron eyed the container with suspicion. "This better not be cursed, Nott."

"Relax, Weasley," Theo replied, his smirk widening. "You'll be thanking me in a moment."

Ron opened the container cautiously, his jaw dropping. "Scabbers!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with shock and relief.

Dahlia leaned over, her eyes widening. "What?!" She grabbed the container from Ron's hands and peered inside. Her mouth fell open. "Holy shit! Thank you, Theo!" Without thinking, she threw her arms around him in a quick, impulsive hug.

Theo froze for half a heartbeat, the unexpected warmth of her embrace throwing him off balance. Quickly recovering, he chuckled. "Shouldn't Weasley be the one hugging me?"

Dahlia pulled back, her cheeks pink. "Sorry," she mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

"Did I hear the headmaster leaving?" Madam Pomfrey's stern voice cut through the moment as she emerged from her office, her sharp eyes darting between Theo and the trio. "Am I allowed to look after my patients now? Mr. Nott, what are you doing here?"

Theo straightened, slipping back into his usual composed demeanor. "Just returning Weasley's rat," he said smoothly.

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips but said nothing as Theo turned back to Dahlia. "Goodnight, Cara. Weasley. Granger."

He gave Dahlia a wink before striding out of the room, his expression cool and composed. But as he stepped into the corridor, a small, satisfied smile tugged at his lips. At least she's safe.

────

After that day, the jeweler had informed him that the gift of intent for Dahlia would be finished by the day before the last day of their term. Theo had been anxiously counting the days, each one stretching longer than the last. Now that it had finally arrived, he found himself staring at it, his fingers lightly grazing over the delicate box it was nestled in, his mind racing with doubts.

Theo stood staring at the box in his hands, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. What if Dahlia didn't accept the gift? What if it was too much, too soon? He couldn't stop overthinking it. The intricate necklace inside the box was everything he'd dreamed of giving her, but now that it was real, it felt like so much more than just a simple gift of intent.

Just as he was about to spiral further, the door to the dorm room swung open, and Blaise, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle entered. Blaise immediately noticed the box Theo was holding, his sharp eyes catching the gleam of the necklace inside before Theo had a chance to even consider hiding it.

"Damn, Theo," Blaise said, eyes wide. "Is that your gift of intent? I've never seen anything like it."

Theo looked up, trying to hide his anxiety. "Yeah, it's... custom-made. Designed it myself." He was careful not to mention how long he'd been planning it—since first year, when his feelings for Dahlia had first started to take shape.

Blaise took a step closer, his eyes still fixed on the necklace, a look of approval on his face. "It's beautiful," he said with genuine admiration. "You've really outdone yourself. Not many people would think to do something this... personal."

Theo nodded, slightly more at ease now. "Yeah, well... I wanted it to be something special."

Draco, leaning against the doorframe, raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think you had it in you, Nott. This doesn't exactly scream 'cold-hearted Slytherin'."

Theo shot him a glare but tried not to let it bother him. "Just because I'm not a bloody idiot doesn't mean I can't be thoughtful," he muttered.

Crabbe, who was standing beside Draco and didn't hear what Theo said about the gift, frowned at the necklace, his thick brow furrowing. "It's shiny... is it some sort of family heirloom?"

Theo shook his head, a little smile pulling at his lips. "No, I designed it myself. It's... just for her."

Goyle, who had been silently observing, scratched his head. "It looks like something you'd see in a jewellery shop for royalty," he said with a grunt of approval. "Nice, Nott."

Blaise stepped back, still inspecting the necklace with a critical eye. "Theo, if Dahlia doesn't fall for this, she's got issues," he said, half-joking but with an undercurrent of seriousness. "This is... well, it's definitely more than most people would even think of."

"Thanks, I guess," Theo said, feeling a little less anxious now but still unsure of himself. "I just... hope she likes it."

Draco, who'd been quiet for a moment, gave him an appraising look. "You've been planning this for years, haven't you?" His tone was unexpectedly soft, a far cry from his usual teasing.

Theo didn't respond right away. He just nodded, staring at the necklace again. "Since first year," he admitted, his voice low. "It's not just about the gift. It's about... her, you know?"

There was a brief silence as Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle absorbed his words, before Draco broke it with a rare, encouraging smile. "Then don't overthink it, Nott. You've done everything right. Don't screw it up now."

Theo met Draco's gaze, surprised at the sincerity in his eyes. "I won't."

Blaise smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Just make sure you don't get cold feet, mate. You'll never hear the end of it from us."

Theo chuckled, feeling his nerves slowly begin to dissipate. "I'll be fine," he said with more confidence, slipping the box back into his bag. "Thanks, guys. It means... more than you know."

Goyle gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "You've got this, Nott. Don't worry."

With that, the conversation drifted to more mundane topics, but Theo couldn't shake the feeling of support from his dormmates. For once, they were more than just the usual group of "mean Slytherins"—they were helping him navigate something that really mattered. And with that, maybe he really could make it through this.

────

The end of term had come faster than Theo had expected, and with it, the flood of nervous anticipation over what was to come. He had spent the better part of the year preparing for this—his gift of intent to Dahlia. It wasn't just the gift itself that mattered; it was the intention behind it, the thought that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something real. He had no idea what he was about to say or how she would react, but it didn't matter. He had to do this. He could no longer let his fear of rejection hold him back.

As the final exams came to an end, he learned that Dahlia, along with Hermione, had aced every subject, earning perfect O's. Theo couldn't help but feel a burst of pride for her. Despite her prickly relationship with Snape, she had passed through every challenge with flying colors. He also couldn't deny that a small part of him had been rooting for her—not just because of how talented she was, but because he found himself deeply drawn to her strength, her intellect, and the way she held herself with such confidence.

The end-of-term feast was underway, and the Gryffindor table was a riot of scarlet and gold. Theo sat at the Slytherin table, watching from a distance as the Gryffindors celebrated their Quidditch victory. Dahlia's laughter was like a beacon amidst the noise, and it made something warm stir in his chest. But as much as he tried to enjoy the feast, his mind was elsewhere—on the necklace, on the words he had rehearsed a thousand times, on how he could tell her that he wanted to court her, that he wanted her to be his.

After the feast, the hall began to empty, students making their way toward the doors. Theo lingered behind, his heart racing in his chest. There she was, talking with her friends, oblivious to everything around her. He had been waiting for this moment all year, and now that it was here, he was terrified. But there was no turning back.

He walked toward her, his steps slower than he wanted them to be, but his resolve firm. He needed to do this, even if it meant risking everything.

When Dahlia turned to face him, their eyes met, and the air seemed to thicken with expectation. He could feel the whispers around them, the weight of a hundred curious gazes. He wasn't sure if they were waiting to see if he would finally break or if they were simply caught up in the drama of it all, but it didn't matter.

"Cara," he began, his voice steady, though inside he was anything but calm. "You know I've had every intention of courting you. It took some effort to finalize this, but I wanted you to have it before the term ended."

He pulled out the small box from his pocket and opened it, revealing the pendant inside. The dahlia flower carved from dark onyx glistened in the dim light, set upon a twisted black silver chain. The back of the pendant bore the Nott family crest, and a tiny silver charm shaped like a sealed letter hung from the side. It wasn't just a gift—it was a piece of his heart, crafted and designed specifically for her.

The students around them gasped, but Theo's focus remained entirely on Dahlia. Her eyes widened as she took in the delicate design, and his breath hitched as he waited for her response.

"Theo... this is beautiful," she said, her voice soft, filled with wonder.

"Only the best for you, cara mia," he replied, his words tinged with something far deeper than just affection.

She looked at the necklace, her fingers gently brushing over the intricate carvings, and then, without hesitation, she placed it around her neck. The chain settled into place, and Theo's heart skipped a beat as she lingered for a moment, her fingers tracing the charm. The world around them seemed to blur, the noise of the hall fading into the background.

"Thank you, Theo," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "I'll treasure it."

Theo's chest swelled with relief, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something more. He gave her a soft smile, his usual smirk gone, replaced with something raw and genuine.

The whispers continued, but neither of them paid them any mind as they exchanged a glance that held far more meaning than any words could convey. Dahlia smiled at him once more before turning to leave, and Theo stayed behind, rooted to the spot, watching her until she disappeared into the crowd.

Later, as Theo walked back to the Slytherin common room, his mind was racing. Had she truly accepted it? The necklace, the gesture—it wasn't just about the gift. It was about what he hoped it represented: a connection, a future. The doubts that had plagued him all year seemed to dissipate as he thought about her soft smile and the way she had accepted the pendant without hesitation. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to feel hope.

────

The morning of departure was always a flurry of activity in the Slytherin common room. Students hurried to pack their belongings, eager to leave the castle behind for the summer, but Theo couldn't quite focus on anything else. His thoughts kept drifting back to the night before—the moment he'd given Dahlia the necklace.

The necklace. The one he'd designed with her in mind, the one he'd put so much thought into, and the one that, thankfully, she had accepted.

As he made his way to the common room, his heart still raced a little at the memory. Just then, Blaise caught sight of him, grinning mischievously. "Oi, Nott! You've got that look. What's going on?"

Theo turned to him, a small, genuine smile creeping across his face. "Nothing. Just... thinking."

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle joined them, their trunks already packed, and the hustle and bustle of the common room echoed around them. Blaise, still eyeing Theo curiously, smirked. "Thinking, huh? Last time I checked, you were more into brooding than thinking."

Theo shrugged, his hand unconsciously brushing the pocket where he had kept the necklace the night before. "I guess things have changed."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco asked, narrowing his eyes.

Theo hesitated for a moment, but the warmth he felt couldn't be hidden. "I gave Dahlia the necklace. She accepted it."

There was a beat of silence, before Blaise raised an eyebrow. "And she actually liked it?"

Theo's smile deepened. "Yeah. She did. She put it on right there."

"Damn," Blaise said, impressed. "I thought you'd be waiting until the very last day, which is today, to give it to her. You really went for it."

"I didn't want to wait," Theo replied, his voice softer than usual. He knew it was risky—he knew that giving Dahlia something so personal, something so meaningful, could easily backfire. But now, hearing his friends' surprised reactions, he was glad he'd taken the chance.

Draco leaned back, crossing his arms. "So you actually did it. She's wearing it right now?"

Theo nodded, the memory of her slipping it around her neck fresh in his mind. "She was wearing it when I left. I... I think she liked it."

Goyle, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. "That's good. You've been after her for ages."

Theo glanced over at Goyle, surprised by his words, but then saw the genuine support in his eyes. Even Goyle was backing him up.

Blaise's eyes gleamed with amusement. "So, Nott, what's next? You've made your move. Is this a 'one-and-done' thing or are you actually going to keep this going over the summer?"

Theo's smile softened, and for a moment, he looked far less like the usual calculating Slytherin and more like someone who had found something he truly cared about. "I think... I think I'll write to her over the summer. See where things go."

"You've got a summer of waiting for owl posts, then," Draco teased, but there was no malice in his tone. "Just don't get too sentimental on us, Nott."

Theo gave him a playful shove. "Don't worry. I won't."

Blaise, however, could see the subtle shift in Theo—how different he was when it came to Dahlia. "Well, good luck, mate. I'll give it to you, you're actually doing this."

Theo's smirk returned, but this time, it was warmer, lighter. "Thanks. I think I'm gonna need it."

As the group continued to gather their things, Theo found himself staring out the window for a moment, his mind already racing ahead to the summer. The nerves hadn't completely disappeared, but for the first time, he felt a sense of peace. He had done it—he had taken the chance, and it seemed to have paid off.

He was ready for whatever came next... or so he thought.

────

"Theo, my son... come here." Lydia Nott's voice was weak, but there was a certain softness in it as she coughed, lying in her bed, her once-vibrant face now pale and drawn. She opened her arms, beckoning him closer. Theo's heart twisted in his chest as he hesitated for a moment, his hands trembling, before he walked slowly toward the bedside.

Tears filled his eyes as he knelt beside her, feeling the weight of everything that was happening. Lydia pulled him into a gentle embrace, her frail arms wrapping around him as best as they could. Theo buried his face in her chest, trying to hold back the sobs that were rising in his throat. Her warmth, though faint, still offered him a sense of security that he desperately clung to.

"Are you really never going to be okay, Mum?" Nine-year-old Theo asked, his voice small and fragile, as if asking this question could somehow change the answer.

Lydia's eyes closed for a brief moment as she took a shallow breath. "No... I don't think so, my love," she whispered softly, her voice barely audible. The truth was painful, and the finality of it hung in the air. She wasn't going to get better.

"But I don't want you to leave us," Theo said, his voice trembling with fear, the idea of losing her unthinkable. He squeezed his mother tighter, as if somehow he could stop the inevitable.

Lydia's hands gently cupped his face, her fingers cold but tender against his skin. "Who said I'm leaving you and your dad? You may not see it, but I will always be with you. Always... always in your heart," she said, her voice unwavering despite her weakening body. She placed a hand over his chest, where his heart beat. "Remember that, Theo. I'll never truly be gone."

Theo sniffled, trying to hold back his tears, but they came anyway, hot and painful. "Okay, Mum," he whispered through clenched teeth, trying to be brave for her, even though his world was falling apart around him.

Lydia's gaze shifted toward Vincent, who had been standing by the door, quietly watching. He stepped closer to her side, taking her hand with an expression of deep sorrow. "Vince?" she called to him softly, her voice weak but steady.

"Yes, Dia?" Vincent Nott responded, his voice equally soft, though laced with a hint of worry.

"Promise me," Lydia said, her breath coming in shallow, labored gasps.

"Anything, my love," Vincent said immediately, kneeling beside her, his hand resting on hers. His face was a mix of love, sadness, and quiet resignation.

"Promise me... that you'll never arrange our darling Theo in a marriage he doesn't want," Lydia continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Let him choose his happiness. Let him choose who will make him happy."

Vincent nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Of course, my love. I'll never force him into something he doesn't want. He will have the freedom to choose."

Lydia smiled faintly, but there was an unmistakable sadness in her eyes. "Keep him safe... no matter what, Vince. Promise me."

"Always, my love," Vincent whispered, his voice breaking with emotion as he kissed her on the cheek. His lips lingered there for a moment, as if trying to hold onto her for just a little longer.

Theo, still holding tightly to his mother, could hear the sharpness of his own breaths, the rising panic in his chest. His whole world felt as though it were cracking. "Mum..." he whispered, his voice breaking as he pulled away slightly, his hands trembling.

Lydia turned her gaze toward him, her eyes warm, but the faintest traces of sadness reflected in them. "Theo, my darling... always choose your happiness. Don't let anyone tell you what to do. Pick someone who will bring you joy... who will love you as you deserve to be loved."

Theo nodded, his eyes wide, his heart pounding in his chest. But before he could say anything more, Lydia gasped suddenly, her breathing becoming shallow, as though it took everything she had just to stay with them a little longer.

"Mum? Mum?!" Theo cried out, his voice frantic with fear as he desperately tried to keep her awake, to keep her here with him.

Lydia's gaze softened, and she gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile. "I love you both... so much," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, before her eyes fluttered closed, her body relaxing as she slipped away.

"No, Mum! Please..." Theo's sobs wracked his body, his heart breaking as he realized what had happened. His mother was gone.

Vincent, his own grief consuming him, immediately moved to his son's side, lifting him into his arms as Theo's cries intensified. "Theo, my boy... she's gone..." Vincent murmured, his voice thick with sorrow.

Theo buried his face in his father's shoulder, clinging to him as though his very life depended on it. His small body shook with sobs, the ache in his chest unbearable. "Mum... no..." he whispered, his words muffled against Vincent's robes. "I don't want her to be gone... I don't want to be alone."

"You're not alone, Theo," Vincent said softly, his own tears falling. He rocked his son gently, his hand rubbing his back comfortingly. "You'll never be alone. I promise you, we'll get through this together."

Theo clung to his father, the grief consuming him. He didn't know how to go on without her—how to live in a world where his mother wasn't there to hold him. But for now, in this moment, he allowed himself to cry in the safety of his father's embrace.

And though it felt like his world had crumbled to dust, somewhere deep inside, he knew his mother's love would never truly leave him. She would always be in his heart.

────

Theo lay sprawled on his bed, his eyes fixed on the ornate ceiling of his room. The memory of that moment five years ago replayed in his mind, as vivid and painful as if it had just happened. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, though he refused to let them fall. He clenched his jaw, anger and sorrow coiling tightly in his chest. Surely, by now, Dahlia would have read the Daily Prophet. The news of his engagement to Daphne Greengrass had been plastered across the society pages in bold, damning letters.

There was no way Dahlia would ever forgive him. No way she'd even want to be near him again.

A knock sounded at his door before it creaked open. Vincent Nott stepped in, his expression a mixture of weariness and resolve. "Theodore," he began, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. "Feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to do you any good."

Theo sat up abruptly, scoffing as he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Oh, please, Father," he snapped, his tone laced with bitterness. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

Vincent sighed, stepping further into the room. "Theodore, you must understand—"

"Understand what?" Theo interrupted sharply, his voice rising. "That it's for my safety? Blah, blah, blah. I don't get it, Father! There are countless ways to protect me, but your brilliant solution is to sell me off to some neutral family? You think an arranged marriage to Daphne Greengrass is the best way to keep me safe?" His voice cracked slightly, but he pressed on, his anger fueling his words. "And worst of all, you broke your promise to Mother—to never force me into a marriage I didn't want. You promised her."

Vincent's face tightened at the mention of Lydia. "And I also promised your mother that I would keep you out of harm's way," he shot back, his voice rising with equal intensity. "No matter what."